


Hypothesis of a Kiss

by AxolotlQueen



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Real World, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst and Humor, Bad Parenting, Bipolar Disorder, Bullying, Erotic Dreams, First Kiss, For Science!, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Inaccurate to real life, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Violence, No Sex, No Underage Sex, Non-Binary Alison, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pansexual Character, Self-Esteem Issues, Slurs, Spin the Bottle, Teenage Drama, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, sexual identity crisis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 98,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxolotlQueen/pseuds/AxolotlQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann is making his way through his high school years very nicely right up until Tendo insists on dragging him to a birthday party where <em>someone</em> (it was Tendo) suggests they play Spin the Bottle. One thing leads to another, and suddenly Tendo's strange friend is kissing Hermann.</p><p>He is alarmed. And upset. And determined to know why. So, of course, he turns to Science to help him find the answer. </p><p>Science, and also gratuitous amounts of kissing and bickering and references to various sci-fi franchises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Formulation of a Question

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if this counts as underage, as there will not be any sex in this story, but they are underage and they do kiss and there is some slightly erotic content, so I tagged just in case. 
> 
> There will also be some homophobia and slurs and minor violence later on, typical high school level stuff. I will put warnings at the beginnings of the specific chapters with these sorts of things. 
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [thistidalwave](http://thistidalwave.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Will probably update irregularly, sorry!

Hermann does not know who, precisely, suggested they play Spin the Bottle, but if he had to guess, he would say it was Tendo. It was definitely Tendo, it was absolutely Tendo, Hermann would be shocked to find out it wasn’t Tendo, and now Tendo is smirking at Alison and Hermann hates Tendo, honestly, he does. 

He doesn’t want to be here, in Tendo’s basement, sitting on the floor in a circle of about fifteen kids, all of whom are giggling and blushing happily at the idea of Spin the Bottle as if it weren’t a perfectly ridiculous, outdated game. He didn’t even want to come to this party, he only came because it is Tendo’s birthday, and Tendo knew for a fact that Hermann did not have anything to do on this particular Friday, and he threatened to tell Karla where her last pack of cigarettes went if Hermann didn’t come. Which isn’t even _fair_ , it was Tendo’s fault in the first place that Hermann stole those, and it isn’t as if he smoked them; he and Tendo lit up one each, and they were dreadful, so they just threw the rest away.

He doesn’t really understand why Tendo wanted him to come. Tendo has lots of “cool” friends. Like Alison, who runs with the cool, artsy, hipster kids, the ones that dye their hair peculiar colors and smoke out behind the school. Or Yancy Becket, who is on the school hockey team and one of the best players, even though he’s only a freshman. Or that weird Newton kid, who Hermann has never met before, but he’s only sixteen and apparently he’s already in university, and his left ear is pierced. Tendo has an easy ability to make friends with anyone he likes, and Hermann feels horribly out of place here, in his shabby jeans that are a little too short because he’s going through a growth spurt and hasn’t wanted to ask his father for money to buy new clothes, in his t-shirt with an obscure Star Trek quote, with his hair that is cut badly and never lies flat in the back, with how skinny he is and how weird looking, and how he never says the right thing and most of the time doesn’t say anything at all, and how he glares at people even when he doesn’t mean to, and how everyone else has been sneaking drinks of the punch that Tendo laced with tequila, but Hermann hasn’t because his dad would probably find out, and also he doesn’t like how it tastes and is a little afraid of getting drunk. Tendo’s friends are cool and good looking and Hermann is. None of those things. Tendo is probably only friends with him because they hung out in middle school when Tendo had acne and liked computer games and hadn’t figured out how to talk to people yet. Soon enough he’s going to realize that Hermann is still as much of a nerd as Tendo was then, and then he’ll stop being friends with Hermann.

He normally quietly dreads the thought - he won’t have any friends at all once Tendo outgrows him, Alison is only friends with Hermann through Tendo - but right now he wishes Tendo would hurry up and realize that he doesn’t have any good reason to hang out with Hermann anymore, so that Hermann could go home and not play this awful game. Kissing a stranger. Why on Earth would anyone want to do that? Well. Tendo wants to, of course, because he has a crush on Alison. It’s all right for _him_. But why would anyone else want to? And why on earth is that strange Newton boy staring at Hermann?

Since it is Tendo’s birthday party, and he’s the one with the bottle - a water bottle, not the tequila bottle like Yancy laughingly suggested - he spins first, although not without first looking around the circle with an appraising eye that makes most of the other, slightly drunk, teenagers laugh, loud enough to be heard over the beat of some awful dubstep song that Tendo likes. He spins the bottle with a dramatic flourish. It revolves rapidly several times on the hardwood floor, then begins to slow near Hermann’s side of the circle, and dread clutches his stomach. But it goes past him, skittering to a stop on Sasha Kaidanovsky, the beautiful and terrifying Russian exchange student that Tendo somehow made friends with. There are rumors that she already has a husband back home, and that he is in the Russian mob, and that she is also in the Russian mob; but she condescends, with a sharp smile, to kiss Tendo on the lips and pat him on the cheek. 

She spins and lands on Yancy, who is too drunk to look frightened as Hermann thinks is the proper response. He surges across the circle and kisses her sloppily with a closed mouth, and Sasha laughs, all white teeth and knowing eyes. Yancy spins and lands on a pretty girl from school named Cara that once called Hermann a freak. She and Yancy kiss deep enough that everyone cheers. 

Hermann wants to go _home_. Every time the mouth of the bottle spins past him, he feels slightly sick with nerves. And everything is too loud, the music and the laughing and shouting teens, and the circle seems to be contracting so that the people on both sides of him are touching him, and the boy on his left smells like sweat and it makes Hermann want to take a shower. Not to mention that sitting like this hurts his bad leg, and that Newton boy keeps glancing thoughtfully at Hermann, and his eyes are the same green as his t-shirt, and Hermann doesn’t know why he’s looking at him, and it makes Hermann feel nervous and self-conscious, and when Cara spins the bottle, she says, “I just hope it doesn’t land on anyone gross,” and looks right at Hermann. 

It doesn’t land on him. It lands on Newton. He laughs and says, “Oh no, I’m definitely gross!” in his strange shrill voice. Everyone else laughs too, including Cara, but there is something tight and fake in her smile, and Hermann is vengefully satisfied that she is disappointed. Newton and Cara press their lips together dryly for a second and pull apart, and for some reason Newton glances over at Hermann again. Hermann still doesn’t know why. He stares back blankly, and then remembers staring is rude and looks at the bottle instead. Newton is on the shorter side and his hands look tiny on the bottle, and there are little chips on color on his nails that Hermann thinks might be nail polish. 

He spins. The bottle goes around and around and then slows, slows, slows, stops. Pointing. At Hermann. 

Hermann’s mouth falls open in surprise. He looks at Newton instinctively. He’s- He’s smiling, a pleased little smirk. 

Someone starts to say, “Oh, it’s a boy, you can-” but Newton is moving, surprisingly fast, flinging himself across the circle on hands and knees, and then he’s right in front of Hermann, and Hermann says, “Oh-” and Newton. Kisses. Him. 

His lips are soft and warm. It doesn’t feel like anything else ever has. Hermann’s eyes are wide open, so he can see Newt’s face centimeters from his, golden freckles spattered across his skin like stars on a clear night sky in the countryside, his glasses skewed, his green eyes shut. He smells like shampoo. It goes on for centuries. Only his lips, he doesn’t try to put his tongue in Hermann’s mouth, he just presses his lips to Hermann’s lips for hundreds of years, and Hermann doesn’t move. 

And then Newt flicks his eyes open and backs up and the person who was speaking before finishes, “-spin again- Oh.” 

Lots of things happen after that, but Hermann is not properly aware of them. People say things. Cara says something, but Hermann isn’t listening. Alison says something back loudly. Hermann spins the bottle numbly, and it lands on someone, and they pityingly peck his cheek. The game goes on. At some point Tendo and Alison get to kiss. The game breaks up. The party breaks up. Hermann follows everyone upstairs - including _Newton_ \- and can’t remember how he’s supposed to get home until he sees that Dietrich’s car is parked outside. Right. Dietrich is home from school this weekend. 

“Hermann. Hermann. _Hermann!_ ”

He starts and looks around, saying, “What?” in a stupid way that doesn’t sound like his own voice. He’d moved out into the front porch to go to Dietrich’s car, and Tendo followed him, apparently. 

“Are you okay?” Tendo says, frowning at him.

“What?” Hermann says again. “Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be.”

“You look kinda- Uh- I mean- You seem kinda freaked- You know, since Newt ki-”

“I’m fine!” Hermann says loudly. 

“Okay,” Tendo says dubiously. “Listen, okay, just, about what Cara said, don’t even listen to her, okay, she’s- don’t worry about it.”

Hermann hasn’t the least idea what Cara said. 

“Of course,” he agrees vaguely, and then, “Bye,” and then he walks off the porch to Dietrich’s car and he doesn’t. He doesn’t look at Newton walking a little way in front of him. He stares at the ground.

“Did you have fun?” Dietrich asks in that grave way of his when Hermann gets in the car.

“What- Yes.” 

When they get home, Dietrich parks and, instead of opening the door, looks at him. “Are you okay?” he says slowly. 

Hermann, who was staring out at the window and feeling this sort of whirling, hot chaos start up in his chest instead of thinking, starts and says, “Wh- Yes, I’m fine.” 

“You look sort of weird,” Dietrich says. 

“I- I’m just- Feeling a little, um, unwell.” Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s why he feels sort of hot all over, maybe he has a fever. 

Dietrich purses his lips ever so slightly. “Herms-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I know you’re a teenager and it’s, um, that age, but, ah, are you...intoxicated? I don’t care, but Dad-”

“I am not _drunk_!” Hermann snaps, and he unlocks the door manually even though that irritates his brother and opens the door harder than necessary and stomps up to the front door. As well as the hot feeling and the spinning chaos, he is starting to feel this tight, prickly feeling in his chest, as if he’s angry. It’s in his eyes too. Maybe he _is_ angry. 

Bastien is in the living room and says, “Hey, how’d the party go-” but Hermann ignores him and nearly runs to his room as the heat and chaos and tightness spreads and spreads, overwhelming the shocked numbness that had before overtaken him. 

When he is alone in his room, flopping down onto his bed, he can think about why he feels like that. It’s because- It’s ever since- that boy- Newton- He-

He _kissed_ Hermann. 

He kissed him. He kissed him. That _boy_ kissed him. On the lips. With his lips. He can remember it still, so vivid, the soft warmth pressed up against his face, all of his constellations of freckles, so close, and just remembering it makes him get hotter and hotter, his face burning with, with, with something, he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling, other than confusion, Newton didn’t need to do that, there was no call, he would have been allowed to spin again, or he could have kissed Hermann’s cheek or something, he didn’t need to kiss his mouth, he had no right, why did he do that, and so casually, like it was nothing, just, just kissing him, and that was Hermann’s first kiss. 

His first kiss was like that. 

The heat and prickling spreads and rises up his chest and throat and into his cheeks and eyes and spills over wetly, running out his eyes and down his hot cheeks, and he’s so furious because now he’s crying and he doesn’t know why and he hasn’t cried in months. 

It was just too much of a surprise. The way that he looked at Hermann beforehand, with that little smirk. Did he just want to humiliate Hermann? But there was something else about the way he looked at him. And afterward he kept staring at Hermann, even through the shock that shut down his whole brain he’d noticed Newt staring at him. And he doesn’t know why. And it was his first kiss. With a boy. 

Boys kiss boys, he knows that, but it’s, it’s weird, and yes, of course he knows that homosexuality is a natural thing and some people are that and that it’s fine, look at Tendo and Alison, but _he’s_ not- and he’s heard the things other boys at school say, and that his father’s parents say, and, god, what if _Dad_ finds out, what would he say, he’d be so- He’d probably be so disappointed, because, because it’s weird, but it felt-

When he tries to describe how it felt, and thinks about what his father would say, and what the kids at his school would say, and, and he thinks about his dreams, the ones he doesn’t want to think about, and how he’s already a freak, he already doesn’t fit in and everyone already thinks he’s weird, and it’s one thing if you are Tendo and Alison and already cool but Hermann isn’t, but it felt- When he tries to understand all that, it’s even more confusing and painful, like he’s both too full and hollow all at once, and he knows he's overreacting but he can’t quite seem to stop quietly crying until at last he falls asleep, fully dressed, tears drying on his cheeks.


	2. The Hypothesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann comes up with a plan that is very scientific and not at all completely strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as mentioned in the tags, Alison is NB, so the pronouns might change from scene to scene. I'm probably mostly going to stick to "she/her/herself" and "they/their/themself."
> 
> Small mention of blood in this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to [chuchukelsey](http://chuchukelsey.tumblr.com/) for giving me some advice and feedback on this fic and making fun of me relentlessly for the title I've been using on the Google doc of this.

Normally when Hermann gets really upset over something, he can go to sleep and wake up feeling better and then lock away whatever it was that was upsetting him, and that’s it, he’s fine. It can't hurt you if you don't think about it. This time, however, he falls asleep still agitated and confused, and he wakes up even more so. 

A boy kissed him. That’s the only part he can understand. Everything else is utterly incomprehensible. Why he did it- Why Hermann overreacted like that- Inexplicable.

He spends the whole weekend trying to forget it, thinking about it anyway, realizing he’s thinking about it, working himself up again over it - he doesn’t cry anymore, at least - and then trying even harder to make himself forget about it. It makes for a restless few days.

The most frustrating part, by Sunday, is that he still can’t figure out _why_ he is so upset and confused, why this is bothering him so much. He may never understand the actions of that peculiar boy, he could just barely accept that, but not being able to understand himself is unbearable.

It's not that it was forced on him. He was half-expecting to have to kiss someone. After all, he did join in the game. But- He tells himself repeatedly that it was only a stupid kiss in a silly game, and it was a kiss from a boy so it really doesn’t matter. No reason to be anything more than mildly annoyed over that. Even if it was technically his first kiss. That doesn’t mean anything, first kisses aren’t any more special than any other, no matter what the anime that Karla likes to watch say. So there’s no reason to be upset. But he still is. And he doesn’t know why. And he hates not knowing things. 

So by Monday he has determined to do something to resolve his ignorance. He has a plan, and so long as he doesn’t think too closely about the plan, it seems perfectly logical. He just needs to find Tendo, which, unfortunately, means waiting until lunch. They don't have any classes together this year for the first time since seventh grade.

On his way through the dingy school halls to his first class of the day, someone shoves him into the wall and mutters something he doesn’t quite catch. He scrapes his hand on the lockers, but it doesn’t bleed very much, so he does his best to simply stiffen his shoulders, pick up the things he dropped, and continue through the halls without any reactions. He doesn’t even let himself look around to see who pushed him. It doesn’t really matter. There are the kids who shove him for being a stuck-up know-it-all, the ones who shove him for having an accent, the ones who shove him for walking with a limp and needing a cane sometimes, and the ones who shove him simply for being different and being a victim. It doesn’t matter what reason it was this time. 

Although, as the day goes on, it sort of seems like there’s a few more people than normal giving him weird looks and muttering under their breath when he passes by, but maybe that’s just his imagination. The events of the weekend are probably screwing with his head and making him paranoid. 

Lunch time comes at last. Hermann has never been so pleased for it to arrive. He doesn’t normally really like lunch. Not the meal itself, but all that comes with it in high school. Crowds, noise, the question of where to sit. He and Tendo have the same lunch period, so it ought to be as simple as that, but it isn't really, not since Tendo actually developed social skills a year or two ago. Tendo has so many friends now, at least some of which sit with him, so that eating with Tendo means being around them too. These days, sitting with Tendo at lunch usually makes Hermann feel nearly as out of place and uncomfortable as he did at the party on Friday. But Hermann has no other friends to eat with and eating alone is almost unbearably humiliating - what's worse, the pitying stares or the kids who laugh at you? - and anyway even when he does try that, Tendo hunts him down and gets irritated at Hermann for not sitting with him. The best solution Hermann has come up with is skipping lunch all together and going to the library to read instead. He claims he's studying or doing homework and Tendo can’t get angry about that.

Today, however, he is determined to talk to Tendo for at least five seconds...even if Tendo is sitting awfully close to Alison and they are sort of staring dreamily at each other. _That_ must have finally happened. Hermann is glad for them, Tendo has been in love with Alison for ages now, but it’s going to make being around them even more awkward. Whenever Tendo starts dating someone new, Hermann becomes the most uncomfortable third wheel ever. He’ll definitely be spending the next month at least skipping lunch to hide in the library, probably until the end of the school year, which is finally drawing near. Maybe he’ll have to start actually eating breakfast to make it through the day. 

He’ll endure being a third wheel this once. He sits down across the table for them and waits quietly for them to stop gazing deeply into each other’s eyes and notice him. It takes a while. He really can’t help but notice in the interim that people are giving him weird looks. Cara is a table away, and she keeps looking at him and saying things to the people sitting at the table with her, who are all either laughing or looking scandalized. God. He really hates Cara. He wishes Tendo wasn’t friends with her. He wishes Tendo would stop mumbling things to Alison in a soppy voice and just fucking notice Hermann already so that he can ask Tendo his stupid fucking question and pretend to be done with lunch and go to the library. He isn’t even hungry today. 

Finally, Alison and Tendo acknowledge him sitting there. “We’re going out now,” Tendo says with a gooey smile. He’s such a sap. He acts like a huge flirt but really he’s a romantic. Disgusting. 

“I figured,” Hermann mutters, and says, “Congratulations,” more loudly. That over with, he starts to say, “About the-”

“Hermann, what happened to your hand?” Alison interrupts with a concerned frown. She’s looking at the red scrape on his palm. Dammit. He meant to keep his hand palm down, he forgot. 

“It’s nothing,” Hermann says impatiently. “I tripped.” 

Tendo raises his eyebrows skeptically, but he doesn’t say anything, thank god. Hermann hates when people get on him about all of that. He and Tendo have argued a couple of times over that, and Hermann is not interested in arguing with him today. Alison still looks concerned, but she also doesn’t say more. Hermann is fairly sure he likes Alison more than he’s ever liked anyone else Tendo has ever dated. He dated Cara briefly freshman year, it was terrible, she and Hermann despised each other almost instantly and Hermann was never able to say a word about it because Tendo liked her. 

“Anyway,” Hermann continues firmly. “About your party.”

“Oh yeah,” Tendo says, and he and Alison exchange meaningful glances. For some reason Hermann feels his face go hot. “Are you, uh, okay about that? You seemed pretty taken aback. I hope Newt didn’t freak you out too much, he can come on kind of strong. Weird sense of humor. I mean, he’s a nice guy, he’s just...weird.” 

He’d thought his name was Newton, that’s how he remembers Tendo introducing him. But maybe Newt is a nickname. What a silly nickname. 

There’s really no reason for his face to be heating up this much, but now he’s thinking about the damned kiss again. He swallows nervously and says, trying so hard to sound indifferent that he sounds rather cold, “It’s fine. But I wanted to ask you about that.”

Tendo’s mouth falls open in surprise. “Oh. Really? You wanna talk about it?”

Hermann thinks it’s a little unfair that Tendo emphasized “you.” 

“No,” he snaps. “I just. I wondered if you could give me his phone number or email or- Put me into contact with him somehow.” 

Tendo and Alison both look utterly astonished. 

“You want his number?” Tendo says disbelievingly. “You- Really?”

They are both so shocked, and Hermann’s face is so hot that he might be starting to sweat. He shouldn’t have worn a jumper today. “If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s fine, forget I said anything-”

“No, no!” Alison says hastily. 

“I can give you his phone number,” Tendo says. He’s begun to smile, and Alison too, and they are looking at each other and smiling and then looking back at Hermann and he wishes they would stop it. “I’m sure Newt would love to hear from you!” 

Hermann has no idea what that is meant to mean. Why on Earth would Newton want Hermann to call him? Why does that thought make him feel so weird? Like his heart is beating too fast and his stomach is twisting and he feels sort of sick and lightheaded. What’s wrong with him lately? 

“I’ll text you his number,” Tendo continues happily. “And I’ll tell him to expect to hear from you. He’ll be really pumped, I bet.” 

“He really is nice,” Alison says, leaning across the table toward Hermann. “I mean, he’s sort of weird, but I think you’ll get on great with him, he’s so smart, and he’s a-”

“Huge nerd, just like you,” Tendo laughs. “Totally into science shit. You guys are a perfect match.” 

Hermann has now received the text, so he’d really like to just escape, he definitely doesn’t want to eat when he feels so weird, he wants to go somewhere quiet and alone. He doesn’t understand the way Tendo and Alison are acting or the things they are saying. But he still has a few questions, and somehow they come bubbling up. “Is he really a college student?”

“Yeah, he’s a freshman at SDU.”

SDU is a good school. Hermann’s father wants him to apply there next year. “But how old is he?”

“Sixteen,” Tendo says. “He’s kind of a genius - like you, I guess - so he skipped a couple of grades. And he’s super insufferable about it...also like you, ha.” 

“Oh.” Kind of a genius. Hermann wonders if he’s kind of a genius. He’s good at science and maths, he knows that, but he’s always sort of thought that was just because he worked hard and was smart, not because he was a genius or whatever. He certainly hasn’t skipped any grades. Newton really must be smart. Hermann’s stomach sort of swoops, as if it is attempting to perform aerial maneuvers. He wishes it would stop that. There’s definitely no way he’s eating any more, and he mechanically begins to put away the rest of his food. 

“Don’t be nervous about it,” Alison says earnestly. “He’s a total nerd, and really nice- or, well, capable of being really nice.” 

“I am not nervous,” Hermann snaps. Even though he is. 

Tendo and Alison exchange meaningful glances again. Hermann hates them. “Do you wanna talk about this?” Tendo says gently. “I mean, no judgement _here_ , you know that-”

He really doesn’t know what they are talking about, but it makes his skin feel like it’s crawling off of him. “No,” he says flatly, and stands up. “I’m going to go to the library now, I have- homework. Bye, thanks for your help.” 

“Hermann,” Tendo says, exasperated, and Hermann pointedly does not respond and walks away. 

When he walks by Cara’s table, someone distinctly says, “Ew.”

The halls outside the cafeteria are almost empty. Everyone is either in class or at lunch. Technically speaking, a person isn’t supposed to be in the hallways at this time without a pass, but the hall monitors mostly know him and know that he’s only going to the library, so they usually let him by without a word. He doesn’t even see any today, and the quiet and emptiness of the halls helps him calm down and let the inexplicable anxiety aroused by that conversation slowly seep away- Right until his phone, in his pocket, buzzes against his hip. And again. Not a text. A phone call. 

He yanks it out of his pocket, hissing a little when it slaps against his scraped palm. The phone reads a number that does not match any of his contacts, but it is not entirely unfamiliar. Hermann is good with numbers. His brain tends to automatically memorize at least portions of phone numbers simply from looking at them. And this string of numbers matches the contact information that Tendo just texted to him. 

Newton. It’s Newton. 

His heart jumps and pounds. He goes hot all over instantly. His hands shake. He glances around the hallway with wide eyes, and instinctively ducks into a small, abandoned side hallway that is nearby, and then, although he should not, although he is in school, he answers the call. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi,” crackles the response. He’d forgotten how distinctive Newton’s voice is. “Is this Hermann? It’s, uh, it’s me, Newt.”

“Yes,” is all Hermann can manage to say. He’s keeping his voice down, although the hallways are so quiet that it probably doesn’t matter how quietly he speaks. If there is someone nearby to hear, they will hear. 

“Oh. Um. Cool. Cool.” There’s a pause. Hermann belatedly realizes Newton is probably expecting a reply. He has no idea what to say. “Tendo told me you wanted to talk to me?” Newt says doubtfully. 

“Oh. Yes.” 

“Okay. Uh. What about- Is it about the party, because, um, I’m sorry if I freaked you out, it was just a dumb impulse thing, I don’t have the best impulse control, haha, so, uh-”

“I’m at school right now,” Hermann interrupts. “I can’t really talk.” 

“Oh, yeah, right! Duh! You’re still in high school- Obviously-” What the hell does he mean, _obviously_? “Sorry. Should I call later?”

“That would be best,” Hermann says. It sounds snippy. He sounds like an asshole. He is an asshole. Who cares, what does it matter if he sounds like an asshole to this boy? “Um. School ends at three. So. After that. Is good.”

“Cool,” Newton says again. He keeps saying that. “I’ll call you then?” 

“That would be good,” Hermann says. And winces. _Good_. That...that sounds strange, to say it would be “good,” like he wants Newt to call him, although he does, but not like- Like- He’s not sure like what but he’s sure it’s not like that. 

“Okay- Uh- Can I just ask- This is about what happened at the party, right?”

Hermann shifts his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Yes,” he says. “Bye.” And he hangs up. 

His palms are all sweaty and the salt is stinging into the scrape. It takes him sitting quietly in the library and staring blankly into space for the rest of lunch period before he can even begin to calm down. 

He perhaps shouldn’t have even bothered calming himself, because a mere hour later, the end of the day is beginning to loom over him, and with it the next call from Newton, and his nerves steadily build up again. His plan begins to seem enormously stupid, only now it’s too late, or at least partially too late, he has to talk to Newton again, and he’ll want to know why Hermann wanted to talk to him, and he isn’t sure how to explain, and he’s so nervous and odd feeling that he hardly notices the spreading mutters that his presence in the hallway and classroom seems to evoke. Someone tries to push him again in passing time, but he only stumbles this time, doesn’t fall. 

The school day ends at last. Hermann goes tense all over the instant the final bell rings, and jumps at any trace of a vibrating sound or movement at his hip as he goes to his locker and packs up the things he’ll need for the day. He tries to convince himself that Newton will not possibly call at exactly three, that is highly unlikely, really he might not call for hours, and so, despite how tense he is, he’s still shocked when the phone rings at 3:05. He hasn’t even exited the building yet, he’s still walking toward the front door. He answers the phone with hands that are, again, trembling, and says hastily, “Please wait a moment,” and then drops the hand holding the phone to his side and fights his way through the crowds of people to the exit. 

Once he’s out, he finds a quiet little space up against the school walls - there’s even a little picnic table - that he can sit at to answer the phone. He’ll probably miss the bus, but whatever, he knows Karla doesn’t have class in the afternoon today so he’ll make her come pick him up. She’ll be mad. She doesn’t like going to the house. But he doesn’t care. He hates taking the bus anyway. 

“Hello,” he says nervously into the phone. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I wasn’t in a good place to talk.”

“It’s fine,” comes Newton’s voice. “I probably shouldn’t have called right after three.” 

“That’s when I told you to call,” Hermann says, annoyed at how stiff his own voice sounds. He tries telling himself yet again that there is no reason for him to feel like this, but it still doesn’t work. Well, that is why he is doing this, after all. So that he can figure out what he is feeling, why he feels that way, and how to make it stop. 

“So. What was it you wanted to talk about?” Newton asks. His voice sounds a little higher than Hermann remembered it being at the party. Maybe it’s the quality of the call. 

“Um. A-about what happened. At Tendo’s party.You. Um. Spin the bottle.” Oh god he is not usually this incoherent. 

Newton gives a little laugh. “Been thinking about that a lot, huh?”

Hermann is sure that to an outside viewer it would look as if he had gone instantaneously scarlet. He’s just glad that this small space is relatively closed off, walls on three sides of him due to some odd shape of the high school building. His back is turned to the open edge. It’s unlikely anyone would see him here at all, let alone see his face. He hunches his shoulders and ducks his head anyway. “I-It’s not that- I just- I don’t understand it.” 

This might be easier if he could see Newton. But then he brings to mind the image of Newton that Friday- and that automatically brings to mind his face mere centimeters away from Hermann’s- and his heart is drumming uncomfortably and, actually, he’s glad Newton isn’t here. 

Even if it is hard, without the reference of facial expressions, to figure out Newton’s tone when he says, “Yeah, dude, I mean- It was just impulse, like I said, I dunno, the bottle landed on you so I just sorta did it. It’s not- Not complicated.” 

“But you didn’t have to k-kiss _me_ , you could have spun again-” Hermann starts to violently protest, and then catches himself. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant.” 

“It’s not?”

Hermann shifts uncomfortably on the wood bench. “It’s- It was very odd, and I- I don’t understand-”

“Don’t understand what?” 

“I’m trying to explain,” Hermann says sharply. Normally he’s good at explaining things. No one can ever keep up with the way he thinks, and so when he was younger and would reach answers on maths problems too quickly or in strange ways, teachers and his father were forever demanding he explain how he reached the answer. No one ever checks up on his progress now, they only care about results, but Hermann has still gotten good at explanations. After all, that’s what science is, attempting to understand and explain the universe, so one must be good at them. 

And that’s the key. He tells himself not to think of it as explaining a very strange idea to a boy that kissed him on the mouth, but instead to consider it as a math or physics problem. Then it’s easy. Or easier, at least. 

“I don’t understand precisely what happened or why it caused certain sensations in me, and I find it very frustrating to not understand. So it seems to me the best way to come to understand it is to repeat the experience more carefully. Which presumably I would need your help with, if you find that acceptable.”

There’s a pause. Then, playfully, “So are you asking me out on a date?”

Hermann’s temporary calm is broken just like that. “What?” he squeaks. “No! Of course not! D-don’t be ridiculous!” 

He can’t go on a date with a boy he can’t go on a date with a _boy_ that’s weird what would his father _say_ \- 

Newton pauses longer this time. “Right,” he says flatly. 

Hermann should say something but he’s too busy trying to breathe normally. 

“So, I don’t get it, dude, what d’you want?” 

“I simply wanted to repeat the experience of the party!” Hermann says, barely restraining himself from shouting. “To understand it! Like, an experiment!” 

“Wait,” Newt says slowly. “So. You wanna kiss me. Experimentally. So you can figure out how you feel about that.”

“Ah. Um. Yes.” 

“Huh. That’s weird, you know that, right?”

“If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine, just say so-”

“No, no, slow down. Experimental kissing without any strings attached. For science. That's pretty rad, I’m totally down for that. Let’s do it. For _science_.” 

“O-oh- Really- Are you sure?”

“Yeah, dude, I’m sure. When are you free? You live kinda near Tendo, right?”

“Yes, I do. And, um, I’m usually free on the weekends…” 

“Cool, cool...We probably wanna be alone for this, hm, where can we go…”

Hermann licks his lips nervously. “Actually, all of my family will be out of town this weekend, other than me, so, um, my house will be empty.”

“Perfect,” Newton says, and Hermann fancies he can imagine him smiling. “Saturday, then? Maybe, um, around two?”

“That would work,” Hermann says, and his mouth is so dry that it comes out almost a whisper. “I’ll send you my address.”

“See you then,” Newt says into the phone- Only he says it sort of strange, a little low and warm, and for some reason Hermann’s breath catches.

“Okay,” he croaks, and forgets to say goodbye before he hangs up.


	3. Testing - Trial 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Piece of the Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in the tags, but I just wanted to make it clear that yes, bullying and homophobia will be a fairly integral part of this story, so please be aware of that and take care of yourselves. I will put warnings at the beginning of chapters in which it is particularly vivid. _This_ chapter just has some mild mentions. 
> 
> Also, the line about it being weird about not having your first kiss until you're sixteen: that is _not_ my opinion, please don't take it seriously, I just included it as the sort of thing that teenagers think.
> 
> As always, if you guys want me to tag or warn about something, just leave a comment or hit up [my tumblr](http://tsunderescientists.tumblr.com/).

The week passes him by in fits and starts, some days racing by, others going slow. The kids at school are acting ever weirder, but he's so preoccupied with thoughts of Saturday that he's even better at refusing to think about all of that then he normally is. If he's pushed around and laughed at more on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, what is that in comparison with what is coming this weekend? None of it even really registers until Thursday, when someone shoves him and he loses his balance and falls into a doorway hard enough to leave a bruise on his cheek, and even that is only worthy of note because his father asks him about it. 

He lies, of course. “I tripped,” his constant excuse. There’s no way his father believes that anymore, but he never questions it. Still, it wins him a lecture on how he's been distracted all week, he needs to focus, final exams are coming and senior year and college applications and it's really time for him to buckle down and "I expect better of you than this." A typical lecture. The closer the end of the school year comes, the more he is getting this lecture. Normally he stays quiet and nods and says "Yes, sir," and "Sorry, sir," at the appropriate moments, and that's all; but this time, the whole while Hermann can’t stop thinking of what he has planned for this weekend and what his father would think of that. Hermann is fairly sure that does not fit into his father's plans and expectations. And although he isn't exactly lying about it, he is concealing it from him. Which is a form of lying. Lying is a necessary part of coping with his father, but he always feels bad about it, and this time he feels so sick with nerves and guilt that he ends up skipping dinner that night. 

But he doesn’t call Newton to cancel, either. He considers it, but he finds himself thinking about the kiss all over again, he still cannot get it out of his mind, and the confusing emotions and the anger and frustration rise up in him, like a huge, tangled knot choking his throat, and drown out even the guilt. He can't bear it. He needs to detangle the knot, or maybe just cut it apart, and the only way he can think of to do it is to understand why he reacts to it so strongly. Which means repeating it. Just this once. And then he’ll get it out of his mind and Dad will never have to know how briefly he strayed off the path of his plans. 

The next day is worse, sort of dreamlike, or maybe nightmarish, in the way that it passes. He can't get a handle on time; it's either a slow blur that feel like hours but is only seconds, or bounds of time that eat up entire class periods in an instant. He twitches with anxiety all day. Someone knocks the books out of his hand and says a loud word that he doesn’t catch but that makes the kids around him snicker. A teacher calls on him in the middle of class even though he doesn’t have his hand raised, probably because she noticed him looking distracted, and then she has the nerve to be quietly irritated when he’s still able to answer correctly. He doesn't eat lunch again. The loud voices of the students on the bus ride home scrape at his raw nerves. So does the silence of his house when he gets there. It's terrifyingly empty. Dad left for a work trip this morning and Bastien’s school - he’s still in middle school - hasn’t ended yet. He’s going straight from there to a friend’s house anyway, where he will be spending the whole weekend. Hermann finishes all his homework in an attempt to distract himself or calm himself, but that is over too fast. Homework is too easy, even with the workload being stepped up for the approaching finals. And then there’s nothing to do other than wait for Saturday and Newton. 

The only good thing, really, is that he is so high strung that he’s unable to fall asleep until well after midnight, and then he sleeps nearly until noon the next day, so that he doesn’t have to wait for Newton very long on Saturday. It feels as if he’s barely woken up all the way and showered and brushed his teeth and eaten before his doorbell is being rung. 

His heart jumps into double time at once. He freezes in place for an instant, and then runs for the front door as fast as he can, fumbling it open with sweating palms. 

Newton is standing there, on his front porch, in a blue t-shirt and tight gray jeans, smiling nervously. It is, of course, the first time Hermann has seen him since that Friday, and, somehow the actual, physical presence of him strikes Hermann so hard that he is left entirely speechless for several seconds. To have the actual, physical version of a person he has thought of so much suddenly before him...it catches him off guard. He’s shorter than Hermann remembered, and doesn’t have quite the easy, smirking confidence that struck Hermann on Friday. Still. There are the freckles, and the eyes that seem to spark with hidden laughter even despite traces of nerves, and. His lips. 

“Hi,” Newton says when Hermann doesn’t speak. 

He starts and backs out of the doorway. “Oh. Um. Hello. Uh. Please come in.” 

“Thanks,” Newton says, a little shy perhaps. “Should I take off my shoes?”

Hermann nods. His father is very conscientious about being clean. 

It’s painfully awkward, as Newt sits on the floor to unlace his combat style black boots, and Hermann anxiously stands over him, twisting his hands. He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything at all, and Newton isn’t speaking either. 

“We can go to my bedroom,” Hermann offers when Newton stands back up, and then flushes all over at the accidental implication. “J-just because- In case someone comes home unexpectedly- I don’t think they will, but- Only because of that-” 

Newton kind of laughs, and says, “Yeah, yeah, I got you,” and Hermann feels so ridiculous and uncomfortable that he wishes he could disappear. 

But he can't. He swallows and scowls and turns away and leads Newton to his room before he can say anything else awful. His room is nothing to be embarrassed of, at least, just a simple, spartan space, bed and desk and dresser and bookcase. No posters or silly decorations, his father doesn’t really approve of such frivolous things anyway. His cane, which he only uses rarely, on those days where his leg just hurts or feels weaker than usual, is leaning up against the wall in the corner, and Hermann defiantly refuses to let himself feel ashamed of that. Newton doesn’t remark on it. 

“Nice room,” is what he does say. “Um. Clean.” 

“Yes,” Hermann says stupidly. And curses himself for it mentally. “Y-you can sit down, if you like.” 

Newton sits on the bed, which causes Hermann’s heart to start beating even faster. He should sit down too. Shouldn’t he? How does this work? Should they just get straight to- to kissing? Or should he be polite and offer Newton something to drink or eat? He really has no idea, and he’s probably so scarlet, he feels like he's blushing, and Newton is so much better looking and dressed in comparison to Hermann that he feels absolutely ridiculous, and like there is no way he’ll want to kiss Hermann anymore- And he doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“You know,” Newton says lightly, “I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced. I’m Newton Geiszler. But call me Newt.” 

Hermann stares at him. “Hermann Gottlieb,” he says blankly. 

Newton nods. “Cool. Nice to actually properly meet you...Um, you’re in high school still, right?” 

“...Yes?” 

“You and Tendo go to school together?”

“Ah, um, yes, since middle school…”

“Sit down, dude, stop looming over me. That’s cool you’ve known Tendo so long, he’s a nice guy. I heard he and Alison finally started dating.”

Hermann tentatively sits down on the edge of the bed, making sure to leave space between him and Newton. “Yes,” he says uncertainly. 

“Good for them,” Newton says, nodding approvingly. “I’m a college student, by the way, that’s why I just called you in the middle of the day like an asshole.”

“Yes, I know,” Hermann says. He doesn’t entirely understand what is happening here, but he feels compelled to say, “What’s your major?”

“Bio,” Newton answers with a grin. 

“Oh,” Hermann says, obscurely disappointed.

“What, d’you have a problem with that?” 

Hermann shrugs stiffly. “No, no, none at all, I just personally prefer physics.”

Newton leans back and makes a pffft sound. “Physics. Whatever, dude, totally not cool.” 

Hermann sits up straighter. “Not cool- Physics allows us to describe the workings of the entire universe!”

“And bio allows us to understand all life. Do you, a living creature, deny that that is important?”

“Of course not,” Hermann says dismissively. “But life, for all we know, may be something that only exists on this one, tiny, insignificant planet-”

“Dude, please don’t tell me you don’t believe in extraterrestrial life-”

“Of course I believe, but there’s no way to prove it currently. We have no idea if life exists elsewhere, or what form it exists in, whereas physics is the same throughout the universe, it exists everywhere, so understanding it allows us to understand the entirety of the universe! And ideally we should attempt to puzzle out all the secrets of the universe, which includes biology, obviously, but it simply doesn’t feel as important or as ‘cool’ to _me_ \- Why are you looking at me like that?” 

This really ought to be where Newton looks at him as if he’s utterly insane, or laughs at him, or looks politely bored by the nonsense Hermann is talking. That's what people always do when he goes off about physics or mathematics like that. But for some inexplicable reason, Newt is smiling at him, this big, pleased smile that crosses his whole face and makes Hermann’s heart, which had calmed down in the course of that odd conversation, start fluttering again. “Cool,” he says softly, and leans forward, closer to Hermann, and Hermann remembers why they are here. He stops breathing. 

Newt stops very near to Hermann’s face. “Before…” he says softly. His breath smells like mint gum. “Was that your first kiss?”

Hermann doesn’t trust himself to speak. He nods, embarrassed. Sixteen years old and that was his first kiss. Isn't that strange? There are people who would think that is strange. 

“I wouldn’t have done that if I knew it was your first kiss,” Newt says. “Sorry.” 

Hermann nods again, not really knowing what he means by doing that. Not that it’s fine, because it wasn’t really. He’s just nodding. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Newt murmurs. 

Hermann breathes, “Okay,” and then Newt gently puts a hand, warm, on his cheek, and uses his other hand to remove his own glasses and set them down on the bed. Hermann instinctively closes his eyes. Warmth brushes briefly over his lips, and then presses in harder and stays there. 

It’s a little like before, but not quite the same, because Hermann isn’t as startled this time. Without the blank shock of last time, he notices everything more clearly. Every detail rushing in at him. He tries to catalogue it all, including his own reactions, but he’s overwhelmed by it all in only a few seconds, and yet strangely desperate for more, to move closer-

Newt pulls away. “Breathe, dude,” he says, a hint of laughter in the words. It occurs to Hermann he really hasn’t been breathing, and he sucks in a surprised gasp. 

“Good?” Newt asks. There’s a little bit of pink on his cheeks, but he doesn’t look anywhere near as flustered as Hermann feels. “Did you figure it all out, understand all the mysteries of the universe, or at least yourself?”

“I- I don’t know,” Hermann stammers, too overwhelmed to care that Newt is making fun of him. 

“Shall we try again, then?” Newt says seriously, and Hermann, who is used to thinking through and analyzing his every action, nods yes without even considering if it’s a good idea. 

They kiss lightly like this for at least half an hour, brushing their lips together softly and then drawing apart. Newt makes sure to pull away every few minutes to laughingly ask Hermann if he’s okay and if he wants to stop and to remind him to keep breathing. He moves his hand from Hermann’s cheek to the nape of his neck, and simply rests it there, his thumb slowly moving up and up and down, and Hermann finds he is just as hyper-aware of that as of Newt kissing him. And that he kind of wants to do the same to Newt, even though he does not have the nerve to do it. 

By the end of the half hour Hermann is trembling all over and feeling indescribably peculiar, and Newt pulls away, drops his hand, and says, “That’s probably enough for now.” 

It’s like all of his nerve endings are tingling. Except the tingling also goes inside of him, his brain and stomach and veins, so he doesn’t know what that is, or what it means. It’s consuming and different from anything he’s ever experienced; the closest thing he could compare it to might be a fever or pain, only those things are bad and this is- Is it good? Hermann doesn’t know. It’s not bad. But he doesn’t know if it’s good either. He doesn’t want Newt to stop, doesn’t think it’s enough, but it was also far too much and he’s sort of grateful it’s over.

Realizing that Newt is looking at him expectantly - when did he put his glasses back on? - he tries to sit up straighter and put on a normal expression and say, “Yes, all right,” but he stumbles over the words.

Newt laughs again, and reaches out to him, brushing his fingers across Hermann’s cheek. “Your face is so red, dude.” 

Hermann flinches. Everywhere Newt touches him flares in response. “It’s not like I can help it!” he snaps, suddenly irritated. At himself, mostly, for this outrageous, visible reaction. This reaction that doesn’t make any sense and that he cannot control. But also at Newton, for laughing at him, for making him feel so strange, for having kissed him that first time and confusing him, for being confusing now, for smiling like that. 

He’s still smiling, but at least attempting to suppress it now. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” 

Hermann scowls. “I don’t appreciate being made fun of,” he says with as much dignity as he can manage. 

“Right, of course,” Newt agrees. And snickers. What an asshole. “So. How are the results of the experiment coming out? Figured out why I make you go all red-faced yet?” 

Why. 

There’s always a solution. Every problem has a solution, or else what would be the point? If there was no answer, no correct answer, why would you ever even try? There’s always a solution. But why- He still doesn’t know why- And he needs to know why-

“No biggie if you don’t,” Newt says lightly, stretching his arms over his head. His t-shirt rides up to reveal a tiny sliver of skin above his jeans. “I mean, proper experimentation requires lots of trials, right? Gathering as much data as you need. Even if you did have the answer…” He smiles wickedly. “We’d probably still need to experiment loads more. So. We’ll just do this again...if you want. Next weekend, maybe?”

Inexplicably, upon hearing this, Hermann experiences extreme relief. No need to know the answer just yet. “I suppose,” he says stiffly. “My family will be away again, I believe.”

They usually are away.

“Cool, cool,” Newt says. “Now, my dad isn’t going to be back for like, another hour still to pick me up. So. Do you have a TV or anything?”

“A TV?” Hermann repeats. 

“Yeah. You like Star Trek, right? You were wearing a Star Trek t-shirt at Tendo’s party. I love that show. I was thinking we could watch an episode.”

“Oh. Um. All right,” Hermann says uncertainly, wondering if Newt is making fun of him again. But he leads Newt out to the living room and hooks his laptop up to the television - something he only dares to do when his father isn't around - so that they can watch Netflix on the large screen, and Newt eagerly requests a specific episode. "A Piece of the Action," one of the sillier episodes, but one that Hermann likes too. And he watches it enthusiastically, unironically. Hermann has never actually watched _Star Trek_ with someone else that likes it before. Tendo finds the original series far too campy. Perhaps it's simply due to that, but Hermann finds himself so aware of the person sitting next to him that for once he hardly even looks at Captain Kirk and his knowing smile, even in that blue suit which he has always liked. 

 

 

Hermann lies awake that night, and all he can think is- He had kissed a boy. He kissed a boy, and it didn’t feel bad or wrong. 

But he assures himself that the only reason he wants to do it again is so that he can understand _why_ it didn’t feel bad, and can understand what it was that he did feel. Only that. Nothing to do with- with Newt’s big green eyes.


	4. Peer Review 1 and Trial 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inevitable background Team Hot Dads. X-Files references. Weird tangent about fiction and pop culture. Some tongue action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the tags for bullying and homophobia comes in. There will be usage of some slurs, particularly "fag," all mostly toward the beginning of the chapter. The use of the slurs is only in the first section, and then there is some bullying in the first few paragraphs of the second section. There is also Hermann using ableist language toward himself later on in the second section. As always, if anyone doesn't feel up to reading it but would like to know what happens in the chapter or what happens in those sections, you can leave me a comment asking for a summary or you can message me on [my tumblr](http://tsunderescientists.tumblr.com/).  
> 

Monday, he walks into school worrying about how to avoid Tendo. Because an unfortunate result of having been friends with Tendo for so long is that Tendo knows him, better than nearly anyone else other than maybe his older sister. He’s really not sure that he can look at Tendo without thinking about what he did over the weekend, and if he thinks of it, of Newt, then he’s bound to start blushing, and Tendo will notice and know that it means...something. And no doubt he won’t stop harassing Hermann until Hermann tells him about it, and then Tendo will surely assume all sorts of things that are untrue, of course, of course they are, utterly untrue-

He’s thinking about all this, and not really paying attention to where he is going, which is always dangerous with his leg, he should pay attention, and so he slams right into the large body that has planted itself into his way. He says “Ow,” more out of surprise than pain, and staggers back. 

He recognizes the person, once he has fallen back enough to look him the face, and this sends a little twist of dread through him. Tim Laird. An older boy, and rather a lot taller than Hermann, and the sort of person that likes to victimize anyone that is smaller than him and that he has decided is strange, or annoying, or simply fun to hit. 

That person is very often Hermann. 

He wonders what he’s done now. Or maybe nothing, Laird very often doesn’t need a reason to harass or hit him-

“Hey, Gottlieb, is it true that you’re a fag?” Laird drawls.

The world seems to stop for a long time. And there’s no air to breathe. 

“What?” he says, too shocked for the word to hold any emotion. 

Laird smirks lazily. “Cara says that you kissed some weird guy at Choi’s house. Said you enjoyed it. And it sure as hell would explain a lot, if you were. So. Are ya?”

Cara. Goddamn Cara goddamn her. 

He feels sick. 

He thinks about kissing Newt and if he enjoyed it and he, he, he doesn’t know he doesn’t _know_ -

But he puts his chin up and glares defiantly into Laird’s laughing face and says, “I am not, not that it is any of your business-”

“Aw, come on, Gottlieb, everyone knows it’s true already, just admit it!”

“It’s not!” Hermann snaps, voice going low with stress and anger and (hurt) outrage. “Now, I have to go-” 

He tries to push his way past Laird. Which hardly ever works. Fleeing is not particularly a valid option when one walks with a limp and is not the most athletic person in the first place. Plus Laird is older than him and taller and considerably more muscular. He easily seizes Hermann's arm by the bicep, hard, hard enough that he’ll probably leave bruises, and hisses, “Now, don’t be rude, you fucking ho-”

It’s luck, really, that Mr. Hansen, the young but very intimidating Chemistry teacher, shows up at that moment, snapping, “What’s this?” so that all Laird can do is let him go and say, “Nothing, nothing, just messin’ around!” with a fake smile. 

Hermann doesn’t agree that it’s nothing. But he also doesn’t say what it really is. Because he’s a coward and because it won’t do anything anyway. “Well, move along then,” Mr. Hansen says, but when Hermann tries to escape, he says severely, “Not you.”

This is how it always goes. He is the one to get in trouble and the ones who actually did it get off scot free. It’s always his fault. 

“Is that kid giving you a hard time?” Mr. Hansen says, examining him sharply. Hansen is one of the teachers that has a reputation for having eyes in the back of his head. No one dares pull anything in his class. Hermann had him last year - he took both physics and chemistry in the same year, even though traditionally people take one a year - and enjoyed the class enough that his natural teacher’s pet instincts had come out, but he’d scarcely been punished for it by his peers the way he is in other classes. 

Hermann doesn’t _like_ Mr. Hansen, exactly, or dislike him either, but he respects him, so he actually feels guilty about saying, “No.” But tattling only ever makes things worse. 

He is blatantly unimpressed. “Really,” he growls. “Sure seemed like it. Sure seemed like he was on the verge of whipping out some nasty slurs. Sure seems like the kid is a creep-” Are teachers allowed to say things like that? “-And a bigot- Like the half the people here are- Dunno what the hell Stacker was thinking, just because the schools are good-” He cuts himself off and sighs. “I’ve no patience with that sort of intolerance. If he gives you any trouble again, if anyone does, you- Well, I hope you know that you can come to me.”

Mr. Hansen has a gold ring on his left hand, and there are pictures on his desk of two little kids, a red-haired boy and an Asian girl, both about the same age, very young. But no pictures of a wife. And there are rumors he’s been seen out, grocery shopping and at restaurants, with a man a little bit younger than him. There are rumors about him, the same sort of rumors that there are apparently about Hermann now. Hermann probably could trust him. But tattling never makes things better and it won’t make this better and anyway it’s not like it’s _true_.

He nods and says only, “Yes, sir.” 

Hansen sighs and says longingly, “Ah, if only other kids were as respectful as you. Miss having a bright kid like you in my class, most of these kids are idiots- I didn’t say that.” He gives Hermann one last narrow look, then says, “Alright, alright, you can go.” 

Hermann tries not to feel like he’s fleeing as he walks away. He hides in the library at lunch. He manages to avoid Tendo all day. He doesn’t cry. 

On the way out of school, someone shoves him and hisses, “Fag.” 

 

It’s not a good week. Hermann doesn’t eat lunch a single time because he can’t bear to look Tendo in the face or even enter the crowded cafeteria. Tuesday, Laird manages to catch him in passing time and makes sure to leave some bruises and cruel words to make up for lack of the previous day. Everywhere Hermann goes, he seems to hear people whispering that word. Wednesday, he quite accidentally finds himself face to face with Cara, and when he tries to confront her, tries to get her to tell the truth of what happened, she laughs in his face. Thursday, someone trips him and he falls down and drops his books and papers all over the place, and people walk right on top of them. He gets in trouble for turning in ripped and dirty homework. And Friday, no one in any of his classes will sit next to him.

He doesn’t notice it until third period. People don't often voluntarily sit next to him anyway. Some classes they have assigned seats and the kids that sit near him ignore him, and some classes they can sit where they like and he sits in the corner and people only sit near him because there's no space left or they want to be near someone else. So it doesn't sink in until third hour that people are now actively contriving to sit as far from him as possible. In the assigned classes, kids sit on the very far edge of their seat. In voluntary classes, the seats around him are the last to be filled, if they are filled at all, and kids make disgusted faces over sitting near to him. He hears someone whisper, "Haven't you heard about him, he's-" and "Ugh, I don't wanna sit near him, what if he tries something?" Like he's unclean or untrustworthy. It hurts. It hurts but he pretends not to notice. 

Tendo texts him three times over the week but Hermann pretends, even to himself, that he doesn’t get any of the messages. 

And through it all, the long, horrid week, he knows that he could cancel on Newt. He probably should. Because he isn’t what they are saying he’s saying. (Right?) So there’s no need to see Newton again. Probably best not to. It’s not as if he and Newton are friends in any way. 

But he doesn’t cancel. Because- Well, he reasons, he really isn’t what they are saying. Kissing Newton is entirely separate. Just a matter of curiosity. And they don't even know about last Saturday, that has no bearing on the rumors, so whether or not he cancels this Saturday will have no effect on how he is treated at school.

Besides, he’s actually sort of looking forward to seeing him again - just for the sake of continuing their experiment - it's unprofessional to abandon an experiment halfway through - and after the week he’s been having, he really doesn’t feel up to depriving himself of something he wants to do. So although he picks up his phone about a hundred times to text or call Newton to tell him not to come, he never goes through with it. 

And when the next Saturday rolls around and he hears knocking at the front door, a strange little thrill of excitement runs through him that seems to make it all worth it. The next second he is hastily shoving that feeling down, filing it away to consider later. In its absence, there is only anxiety, wondering what will happen this time.

It starts out much as the same as before. Newton on his front porch, bouncing nervously up and down on the balls of his feet, a bright smile flashing across his face when Hermann opens the door. He says, “Hey, Hermann, hi!” and Hermann is once again struck by his uniquely shrill voice. Not bad, necessarily, just unusual. Hermann lets him in and he takes off his shoes without being prompted this time. Not the difficult-to-unlace boots of before, Hermann notes, just ordinary sneakers now, Converse, hardly a surprise for him. Or any high schooler. Hermann has his own pair of black, falling apart Converse sneakers. And then, as before, he leads the way to his bedroom. 

“Home alone two weekends in a row,” Newt muses as they pad down the hallway. “No way my dad would ever leave me alone in the house that much, he was reluctant to even let me dorm at school, and that was with a roommate…Do you usually get left alone this much?”

Hermann shrugs. “My dad has to travel a lot for work.” Sometimes it feels like he’s traveling for work more often than he is home. Not that Hermann exactly minds. “And my older brother and sister are both in college, they...don’t come home much.” Dietrich comes home more often. To stay for the weekend, every month or two, usually when he knows that Hermann and Bastien are being left alone. And _he_ lives an hour away from home. Karla’s dorm is a scant half hour drive away, and she has not come to visit a single time since she started university, and Hermann is fairly sure she’s intending to stay in her dorm over the summer. He doesn’t blame her, it’s just...whatever. “So usually it’s just my little brother and I, but he’s with friends.” Bastien and Karla are the only ones in the family with any social skills to speak of. Bastien is positively _popular_. 

And then...Then he’s just waiting, for the question, for “What about your mom?” or, maybe worse, the silence that means whoever is listening is puzzling through his lack of mention of a mother, drawing inferences, assuming things, pitying him. 

But Newton, without skipping a beat, says, “Wow, big family.” 

A little knot of tension unfolds itself in his chest. “Yes,” he agrees vaguely, and stops before the door to his bedroom, pleased that opening it and letting Newton in naturally puts an end to that conversation. 

Today, Newton sits down on Hermann’s bed without being prompted, and instead of perching on the edge, he scoots back until his back is up against the wall and he can cross his legs. “Phew,” he says, knocking his head lightly against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. Hermann fervently prays that the stick on stars there won’t be visible against the white ceiling. They are, perhaps, the only silly or childish thing out in the open in his room. He doesn’t like to think about what his dad would say if he knew they were there. “I’m so glad this week is over, ya know?”

This so nearly matches Hermann’s own feelings that he is rather taken aback. For an instant he is sure that Newton knows what Hermann went through. But how could he- He couldn’t. “Ah, rough week?” is all he can say, rather weakly. 

“Finals week,” Newton explains. “I mean, I didn’t really struggle with any of my classes, but still, like, totally stressful, and moving out too, that blows, even though I don’t live that far from home so it was easy to do; but now it’s all over, I’m done and free for the whole summer!” He smiles suddenly. “You’ve still got like a month left of school, right?” he says teasingly. 

Another little spot of tension eases. He dares to sit down on the bed, although not quite so comfortably as Newton. “Yes, finals aren’t till June.”

“Haha, sucks for you! But you’ll probably be fine, right, Tendo told me you’re like, some kind of genius.” 

His initial thought, as always, is to uneasily wonder if he really is so smart as everyone seems to think he is. He’s smart, sure, but a genius?

His second thought is much more alarming, and he sits up straighter. “You’ve been talking to Tendo about me?”

“I mean- Like, I asked about you a little bit at that party? It’s not like I’ve been getting Tendo to unload all the juicy gossip about you, alright,” Newton says defensively. 

His hands clenched into fists at some point. A nervous tic. He uncurls them. “Ah. I...see.” He sounded awfully accusatory when he said that before. He ought to apologize. “Why did you ask him about me at all?”

Newton shrugs and half-smiles. “That’s...You know, tell you what, Herms, I’ll tell you that when you tell me the results of your ‘experiment.’”

Herms. He doesn’t really care for being called that. It sounds odd in Newton’s voice. 

“I don’t really see the point of that,” he says. 

“You will,” Newton promises. 

“If you say so,” Hermann murmurs. 

Silence falls after that. Newton hums a little under his breath as he stares up at Hermann’s ceiling. With every second that passes. Hermann goes tenser. Wondering if Newton is about to kiss him again, and when. Or if he’s supposed to kiss him first this time. If that’s okay, if he can do that, just kiss him. If he wants to. Why he would want to, if he does. He would swear he can hear Laird whispering that word in the back of his mind. The silence and stillness is killing him. Newton doesn’t seem like he’s the sort of person that would ever be quiet. So what does it mean that he’s being quiet now, what does it mean, what does it-

“So how do you think you did on your finals?” Hermann bursts out. 

Newton starts and lifts his head. “Uh- Um, pretty good, I think?”

He’s an idiot Hermann is an idiot, oh god. That was so awkward. Bloody hell. “That’s good,” he mumbles, ducking his head. 

“Yeah,” Newton says slowly. “Yeah, all good, you know, I had to take a lot of core classes this year since I was a freshman, and that sucked, I never wanna write an essay again in my life, waste of my talents, honestly, I’m way too much of a genius to write essays on fucking _Antigone_.”

“Well, it is good to have a well-rounded education-” Hermann starts, only to be interrupted by Newton groaning and rolling his eyes.

“Well-rounded, whatever, dude, c’mon, don’t tell me you buy that stuff! I mean, d’you honestly enjoy wasting time you could be doing useful stuff by reading- _Heart of Darkness_ or whatever shit they make you read in high school! Although I will say that _Apocalypse Now_ is pretty badass.”

“Haven’t actually read that one,” Hermann says, instead of answering the question. He doesn’t really care for English class, he has to admit that. He likes to read - likes to read more than he cares to admit, considering he is supposed to be a scientist - but analyzing the books afterwards is not particularly his strong point. It is endlessly frustrating to him that there is not a single right answer. He gets good enough grades, because he does all his work and pays attention, but he gets irritated with all the debates of what things could or could not mean. There ought to be just one answer, one right answer. The green light symbolizes the things that Gatsby wants but cannot have and that is _that_. 

“It's that book- You know- "The horror-" You know what, just watch _Apocalypse Now_ , it’s the same difference,” Newton tells him. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Hermann admits.

“Oh, dude, are you kidding me? How can you not have at least heard of it!” 

“It’s a movie, I’m guessing?” Hermann ventures. 

Newt rolls his eyes again. “Yeah, it’s like, a pretty fucking famous movie, about the Vietnam war, it’s a sort of a modernization of _Heart of Darkness_ \- ‘Cept not exactly modern anymore, it was made shortly after the war so it was modern-ish then. Anyway, it’s good, and how have you not heard of that?”

Hermann shrugs. “I don’t know, I don’t really care for pop culture.” 

“Other than _Star Trek_?” Newt asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Wha- That’s different.” 

“How, dude, please tell me, how is that different.” 

“I like science fiction, not pop culture,” Hermann says with as much dignity as he can. Although. Honestly, he’s a little embarrassed. He doesn’t really have an excuse for liking sci fi as much as he does, it’s childish and silly, and he knows his father disapproves of it, so really, he ought to have outgrown it by now. 

“I mean, sci fi is totally cool, not disagreeing with you there, but I don’t think you get to look down on pop culture if you like science fiction. If you think about it, _Star Trek_ was pop culture in the sixties!”

“I didn’t say that I look down on pop culture, just that I don’t care for it!” Hermann protests. “And I’m not saying science fiction is better or anything like that, I know it’s- it’s silly, I just enjoy it, that’s all, what’s wrong with that?”

“Who says it’s silly?” Newt demands. “ _Star Trek_ practically shaped the way modern technology has developed - flip phones, hello - and it posits a lot of interesting questions of philosophy and equality, which, at it’s best, is what sci fi is meant to do. That’s not silly, it’s important! And, you know, who says there’s anything wrong with being silly, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, it’s so stuck up to look down on things for being silly.” 

“I never said I looked down on it, honestly, Newton, you have to stop putting words in my mouth!” Hermann snaps. How did this turn into an argument? “I simply said it was silly, not that I disapproved of that! Do recall that I was wearing a bloody t-shirt for the show the first time we met, obviously I like it! And I also think it’s a very intelligent show, and as to who says it’s silly- Do you not remember the episode with the unicorn dog? Or the tribbles?” 

Newt opens and closes his mouth. “Wait, did you just call me Newton?”

“Of everything I just said, that’s what you heard?” 

“My name is Newt, dude, call me Newt, only my mom calls me ‘Newton.’”

“It’s your name,” Hermann points out. “Newton is your name. And not a silly nickname.” 

“Yeah, but I hate my name. Call me Newt.”

Hermann is intending to just roll his eyes and sigh, “Fine,” and then say the bloody nickname, because honestly, it’s not worth bickering over more. Only. _Newt_. To actually say that out loud. Newt. Seems utterly impossible, his face is going bizarrely hot at the mere thought. It’s not as if they are friends or, or something like that, not as if they are close enough to use nicknames for each other- He just can’t do it. It’s too...intimate. 

_Intimate_ what the hell kind of a word is intimate why the hell is he thinking intimate at a time like this, about a person like this, what the hell is this-

“I won’t,” he says, crossing his arms and looking away. 

“Oh, dude, c’mon, don’t be a jerk, call me Newt! I mean, sometimes people don’t wanna go by their given name, do you have a problem with that, because that is fucked up of you-”

“No!” Hermann snaps. “It’s not like that at all. I have no issue with that, I just don’t want to call you by some daft nickname, it isn’t as if we’re even f-friends or anything!”

“Aw, wow, that’s harsh,” Newt complains, sitting up and leaning forward, toward Hermann. “And you don’t have to be friends to call someone by a fricking nickname, Herms-”

“I hate that nickname!” 

“I’m so not surprised- But that’s not the point, just call me Newt already, just once-”

“No-”

“Do it-”

And then some unholy impulse compels Hermann to say, “Make me!” The world seems to shift, for a moment, into slow motion. His eyes are glued back on Newt. He knows he purposely looked away from Newt at some point, he cannot remember when he turned back to him, but he is, and he can’t look away. He can see the way Newt’s eyes widen at his words, his eyebrows shooting up. Can see him lean closer still- he’s on his knees now- and Hermann knows absolutely that Newt is going to kiss him, and his body is tingling all over, and somehow he’s leaning forward too, as if pulled magnetically to Newt.

His hair is sticking up today.

“Make me, huh,” Newt murmurs. “Okay then. I will.” 

The kiss is a little different this time. There’s the first gentle brushing of lips, experimental, but this time, instead of pulling away, Newt presses in harder, and Hermann wants- wants to get closer- to the warm fizzing shock- he always overthinks everything but he doesn’t really think about this, he just wants to get closer. 

There’s warmth at the back of his neck, and it takes his scattered brain a moment to realize that it must be Newt’s hand. It isn’t just resting there like last time. It’s drawing him closer. Hermann gasps a little, and then, rather to his- disappointment- Newt pulls away. 

“Okay?” he says breathlessly. “Is this okay?”

Hermann nods a few times too many. He’s not sure why Newt insists on asking that so much. 

“Cool,” Newt murmurs, and leans in again.

“Wait- Wait just a second-” Hermann blurts, although most of him is saying shut up and staring at Newt’s soft pink lips. 

Newt jerks back immediately. “What, what, d’you want me to stop-” he says, looking a little panicked. 

“No, no, this is just not a very comfortable position,” Hermann explains hastily. Newt is kneeling on Hermann’s bed, and Hermann is only sitting on the edge of it, a position that naturally has him facing away from Newt, so that he has to be twisted toward him to talk or to...kiss. 

“Oh, right!” Newt says, brightening. “Here, get up here properly.”

The result is rather odd. Because the best position, probably, would be for him to kneel facing Newt. But he can’t do that, not for long, kneeling on his bad leg inevitably gets painful. So he pulls himself up on the bed, and has to stretch out his bad leg because that is simply the easiest position for it, it doesn’t bend very well, and it’s fucking humiliating to adjust it with Newt watching; or, it _should_ be, but there isn’t a single drop of judgement or surprise on his face, he just obediently gets out of the way without Hermann even having to ask. Which is. Nice. And somehow Hermann ends up with his back against the wall, his good leg curled up under him, bad leg before him, and Newt crawls across the bed so he is in front of Hermann. Leaning over him. Very close, right up in Hermann’s personal space. And he feels like the embarrassment and awkwardness of moving around and dealing with his stupid bad leg should have, ah, killed the mood or whatever, but with Newt leaning over him like this, filling up his field of vision, saying softly, “Is this good?” the mood is definitely not killed, definitely not. 

“Yeah,” Hermann says, whispering so his voice doesn’t tremble. 

The hand curls around his neck again. So warm. And Newt leans in to kiss him again, none of the cautious slide of before, just firmly pressing in. 

Hermann’s brain scatters again. The most he can think is that he’d like to get closer, maybe touch Newt himself, the two things he is most aware of in the world are his lips and his hands trembling in his lap, but he isn’t sure he dares, so instead he tries to reciprocate the kiss better, trying to copy the things Newt is doing, press himself closer and closer until he can work up the nerve to touch Newt.

Then there’s a hand on his thigh.

Hermann gasps. It’s warm and solid and on his thigh, pressing down, not too heavy, and on his thigh, and he’s hyper-aware of it, the most aware he’s ever been, or at least that’s how it feels in that moment, but when Newt stiffens and goes to draw away, Hermann is also aware of that, and, no. He doesn’t want him to. So, rather marveling at his own daring even as he reacts mostly on instinct, he loops his arms around Newt’s neck to hold him in place. 

Newt says “oh,” against his mouth and then laughs. It feels strange. It feels. (Good but no he isn’t allowed to think that no just don’t think for once in your goddamn life.)

The hand on his thigh does not withdraw, so he can think about that, that’s better to think about, Newt touching his thigh, and Hermann touching his neck, he wants to touch his hair, messy and sticking up and he couldn’t help but notice earlier it was such a nice color, so he tentatively slides one hand up Newt’s neck into his hair, slightly frightened that Newt will notice and mind and pull away, and Hermann would let him this time. 

He doesn’t move away. He makes a soft sound in his throat. His hair is soft indeed, but also a little stiff, some sort of hair product, Hermann would guess, but it feels nice on his fingers, soft and silky, and Hermann sighs, and.

Newt puts his tongue in Hermann’s mouth.

Which is really not an adequate description because that sounds disgusting, he’d always thought that kissing that involved tongues sounded rather off-putting, and this is not gross or unpleasant in anyway it is rather startling but after that it’s good in a way he can’t describe. 

For a while he just sort of lets Newt kiss him, pulling apart occasionally to breathe. He has no idea what to do and this is really good and he’s content to just let it happen. But after what might as well be an eternity of that, he begins to feel as if he ought to do something himself. He begins to want to. So. So he tries tentatively imitating what Newt is doing. 

Newt makes a sound again, and for a second Hermann is horribly convinced he’s fucked up, but instead of pulling away, he manages to lean in even closer, which Hermann wouldn’t have really thought was possible. And he makes the noise again. Hermann thinks it’s a good noise. He thinks he likes it. 

He thinks is this what would be considered making out, and he thinks he likes it, and he thinks he isn’t going to think about what that means right now, when there are such better things to focus on, like Newt sort of sucking on his lower lip. 

He could do this forever, only- only it really does feel so good, there’s no fucking denying that, his whole body is consumed by warmth and tingling and straining to get closer, and he feels like he might melt or burst into flames or- Or get hard. And. That would be the worst thing ever. With Newt’s hand on his thigh, and even thinking of that makes warmth pool low, and, and if he gets hard, won’t Newt notice, and what if he’s disgusted, or what if he’s not, and what the hell does it mean if Hermann gets fucking hard from this, and suddenly this is too much, way too much, discomfort clawing at his stomach, he’d like to stop now before he fucks this all up irrevocably, and he doesn’t know how to say that, what if he upsets Newt-

Newt stops kissing him. He draws back, and Hermann opens his eyes, scared, afraid he did something wrong and Newt noticed.

“Hey,” Newt says softly, concern written across him. He moves his hand off of Hermann’s thigh. “Are you okay? Is it getting to be too much? We can stop, that’s okay.”

Hermann swallows hard, his mouth still tasting like Newt’s, and nods stiffly, casting his eyes down. “S-sorry-”

“No, no, dude, don’t apologize, okay. If you wanna stop, we stop, no shame in that or anything,” Newt says firmly, scooting back more, so that he is sitting on the bed a few feet away from Hermann. “I mean, I know you’re kinda like...inexperienced - which is totally fine - so, like, it’s important you know that with any sort of, um, with this stuff, if anyone involved wants to stop at all, then you gotta stop. Even if they just seem uncomfortable. If I ever push you or anything, just knee me in the balls, okay? And if I ask you to stop, you’ve gotta stop too.” 

This is all a little much for Hermann to properly absorb when his head is still buzzing dizzily, but he nods and says, “Okay,” breathlessly. “I will.” 

“Did I do anything wrong?” Newt asks earnestly. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

Hermann shakes his head fervently. Newt certainly didn’t do anything. It was his own stupid reactions and stupid body. 

Newt laughs. “You’re still a bit out of it, huh,” he says, smirking. “Dang, I’m good.” 

Hermann recollects himself enough to make a pfft sound. Newt’s ego is probably not something that needs encouraging. 

“Aw, c’mon Herms, don’t be like that,” he says, grinning. “I’m good and you know it. You picked a good experimentation partner.” 

Oh. Right. The experiment. Hermann suddenly goes cold again. 

“Speaking of that, figured anything out yet? Tell me, Hermann,” he suddenly takes on a mockingly professional voice, “How does that make you feel?”

Yes. How. How indeed. 

The first time he was just surprised. The second time he was uncertain. This time, though, there’s no denying that that felt. Good. Nice. Amazing. New and exciting and incredible and powerful and he wants to do it again, maybe not right now, but later, he wants to try again, he’ll do better next time, he’ll be ready and he’ll be more in control and he’ll contribute more- That’s how he feels. He feels good. About kissing a boy. He wants to do it again. He wants to kiss a boy again. 

_She said you enjoyed it._

He enjoyed it. They were right. So does that mean the other things are true too? Is he really that, that word, that word that sounds so ugly when they say it? Not just a freak and a cripple and an annoying know-it-all that no one likes, but also that? When he goes into school this week and these people, half of whom he doesn’t even know, demand to know of him if he is that, is he going to have to say “yes”? Then they’ll never leave him alone, they’ll hate him, for the rest of the school year, next year too, only a year and a month more, a year and a month more of everyone at school despising him and wanting to hurt him for being different and wrong in every way conceivable. Or he can hide it, hide it like he hides every other goddamn thing, a lifetime of hiding everything about himself, and they’ll hurt him anyway just on the assumption that he might be different. 

And what about his father? Hermann has never heard him say a word about anyone’s sexuality, and yet he knows with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t accept it. Not in his own son. His own son that is already such a goddamn useless disappointment-

“Hermann? Hey, are you okay?”

He’s just been sitting here on the bed, staring at Newt. He hadn’t even realized. He never answered Newt’s question. Still has no idea how to answer it, when it would be easier to say “no” even though that is a lie-

“I’m okay,” he mumbles, clenching and unclenching his hands in his lap. 

“It’s okay if you haven’t, uh, ‘figured out the results’ yet, dude,” Newt says gently. “I mean, like I said last time, you’re supposed to run loads of trials, right? We’ve had, what, two, three if you count the first one. Plus, you know, there’s still tons of, um, variables to check out, like, location, we’ve always done it here, but we ought to try in some other places too, see if that makes things clearer.”

“‘Other places?’” Hermann repeats blankly. 

Newt smiles, a little more shyly than Hermann is used to seeing from him. “Yeah, I was thinking, I’m outta school now so I’m at my dad’s place, it’s not that far away...and, uh, I’m gonna be alone pretty much all day Wednesday, so if you wanted to come over, that’d be...cool.” 

He wants to. 

But-

But, does kissing a boy and liking it necessarily mean- What he was thinking it might? Of course not. It was one time. He liked it one time. With one boy. That doesn’t prove anything, one result doesn’t prove anything, that’s terrible science. Maybe it was just because he had a stressful week. Or because it was his first kiss like that. Or any one of hundreds of other reasons. And it was just a kiss, a kiss hardly proves anything, it isn’t like he likes Newt or, or would want to do anymore than kissing, probably, so that doesn’t prove anything at all. 

(And even if it does, a reasonable voice in his mind whispers, that doesn’t mean anyone else has to know. It’s okay if only you know.) 

“I might be able to do that,” Hermann agrees, trying to sound casual even though his mind is buzzing. He might be able to convince Karla to give him a ride, she won't come home but she is usually willing to give him a lift, once in a while, if he offers to do something in exchange. 

Newt’s smile at Hermann’s answer sort of clinches it, and the way he says, “Great!” and how his blue green eyes sparkle. Like he’s genuinely happy. Which is silly, ridiculous, he probably is just pleased to have the chance to kiss someone, it’s not like it matters at all that it’s Hermann. But the smile still makes something in him go warm and soft. 

This time, as they wait for Newt’s dad, they watch _The X-Files_. “I wanna be Fox Mulder when I grow up,” Newt says several times, which makes Hermann snort. 

They’ve made their way through two and a half episodes, long enough that Hermann is no longer feeling the aftereffects of their kissing, when Newt gets a text informing him that his father is waiting out in the street. 

“Bye, Herms,” Newt says, standing up to put his shoes on.

“Goodbye, Newton.”

Newt rolls his eyes so hard he has to tilt his head back. “Aw, c’mon, are you kidding me, am I still Newton? I thought I ‘made you.’” He smirks and adds, “Eyy,” for some incomprehensible reason. “No but really, we’ve watched _Star Trek_ and _X-Files_ together, aren’t we at least friends now? You gotta call me Newt. Just once.”

Hermann scowls. “Oh, all right,” he mumbles. “Just once. Newt.” His face instantly flares with heat. 

Newt is suddenly right in front of him, ducking down to press their lips together, a brief, gentle contact. He smiles as brightly as if- as if that was nothing- when he stands up. “Thanks, Herms! 'Kay, bye now!” And he skips to the front door and out of the house, leaving Hermann sitting on the couch, feeling extraordinarily odd and unable to stop blushing. 

 

Sunday, he receives a text from Newt that is a picture of a salamander and the message, _[Mulder voice] Aliens_.

Hermann rolls his eyes and texts back, _No, Newton, I’m fairly sure that is an amphibian_.

Newt responds, _Whatever scully, /I/ want to believe_.

Hermann laughs but is unable to reply because his father comes home shortly after and he does not approve of texting as a means of communication.


	5. Trial 3, New Location

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt attempts minor roughhousing! It's super effective!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All dialogue that is supposed to be in German will be in italics. 
> 
> Quick note about Newt's description of pansexuality and the difference between it and bisexuality: I've seen about a billion different explanations of the two sexualities, most of them equally valid and logical. I chose the one here not to imply that it is the best or most correct explanation; but because it is how I understand it. Also, I apologize if that explanation comes out a little confusing, it was surprisingly difficult to put in words.
> 
> Check out [ this painfully adorable fanart drawn by the amazing glassvines! ](http://glassvines.tumblr.com/post/101675658134/little-fanart-for-this-newmann-fic-3-heres) Thank you so much~

He wakes up the next day feeling sick. A stomachache, mostly, and he knows it’s just nerves about going back to school, so he forces himself out of bed. The mere thought of food makes him feel slightly nauseous, though, so he doesn’t even attempt to eat breakfast. 

His dad drives him to school, for once. It’s nice to skip the bus, but he has no idea why Dad is unexpectedly volunteering to drive him. He spends the whole ride with his back ramrod straight and his shoulders hunched, just waiting for whatever it is that Dad wants to tell him, it must be bad if he couldn’t say it in the house in front of Bastien and had to wait for the total privacy of the car. Hermann spends all the drive like that, because his dad never once opens his mouth to speak to him. The only thing he says the whole ride is once they reach the school. “Behave at school,” as if he doesn't normally. 

Hermann’s stomachache gets worse. Skipping breakfast, he decides, was a good idea. 

The hallways seem a lot longer than usual, and more crowded, even though his dad giving him a ride means that he is earlier than normal. Hermann walks with his eyes straight ahead and his every sense abuzz, waiting for the cruel worlds to be whispered, to be tripped, shoved, to have his things knocked out of his hands. He doesn’t care, he tells himself fiercely. He doesn’t give a damn about any of them, they don’t know the first bloody thing about him, and they’re all stupid and boring anyway. 

Maybe it’s this attitude, or maybe people have begun to lose interest in him - it’s been two weeks since the reported incident, after all, with nothing more to stir anyone's interest - but it seems to him as if it’s much better today than it had been. Sure, he gets some ugly looks and whispering and nudging at, and, yes, everyone is still doing their best to not sit next to him in class as if he were some sort of awful, disgusting, infectious thing, but, fuck them, he doesn’t like sitting next to them anyway; really, it hardly feels worse than it was before Cara had to run her mouth. Perfectly bearable. He’s nearly let his guard down and is starting to feel a tiny bit hungry again by lunch instead of slightly sick. 

Perhaps it is due to this relaxation that he is cornered by Tendo at his locker in the passing time before lunch starts. If he’d been as tense as he was when school started, he might not be so easily trapped. Not that he’s intentionally avoiding Tendo, of course, he just...was planning not to go to lunch. He’s not that hungry. And, coincidentally, he wasn’t ever hungry during lunch last week either. Which is the only time he reliably sees Tendo. But he’s not _avoiding_ him. 

“Are you avoiding me?” Tendo demands, appearing from nowhere and leaning up against the locker next to Hermann’s. Alison, as ever, is not far behind. 

Hermann flinches - Tendo really did appear fast - and says, “What? No, course not!” maybe a little too quickly to sound innocent. 

“Really?” Tendo says, narrowing his eyes. “Because I haven’t seen a trace of you in, like, a week, and I texted you a load of times last week and you never replied. Which is kinda weird.”

“I don’t think I got those,” Hermann says stiffly. Lying. “And I’m not avoiding you, why on earth would I do that? I am not five, you know.”

“I don’t know why you do half the shit you do,” Tendo mutters. “But- I mean, dude, are you okay? You haven’t been eating in the cafeteria in a while, I never see you anymore, and I’ve heard- Uh- Just, some stuff. You’ve been weird, brother, are you okay?”

Some stuff. Hermann’s stomach twists. He’s not hungry anymore. Definitely going to skip lunch. 

But he’s surprised that Tendo noticed he’s been skipping lunch. He hadn’t thought Tendo would notice. Or care. Now that he’s got Alison and all his other friends. 

“I’m fine,” he says, carefully injecting impatience into the words, as if it’s ridiculous to even ask and how could possibly be anything other than fine? He’s always fine. “I just needed to- To study in the library.”

Tendo is blatantly not impressed. Alison is hovering behind him looking worried. And he hates himself for making them worry, he’s such a terrible friend, but it isn’t fair, why do they care? They’re going to stop caring some day, they’re going to finally figure out what everyone else has figured out about him, and then they’ll stop wanting to be his friend, and he’s so tired of waiting for that to happen and wishes they would just hurry up and do it already. 

“If you say so,” Tendo says at last. “Are you gonna at least come to lunch today?”

Hermann particularly doesn’t see an escape. He sighs and says, “Yes, yes, all right.” 

He didn’t bring a lunch today, so he has to pat down his pockets, wondering if he even has any money to buy lunch. He falls behind Tendo a little bit, and Alison falls in next to him. “So,” Alison says softly, bumping against his shoulder. “Did you ever call Newt?”

There’s an instant where he doesn’t remember that he told them he was going to do so, an instant where he ices all over, and is certain they _know_ , and what does it mean if they know- they wouldn’t care, obviously, so why does it _matter_ to him-

But oh. Yes. They only know that he asked for Newt’s number. Not anything about what happened after that. 

“No,” he lies. “Changed my mind.”

“Oh, too bad,” Alison says with a frown. He wonders what Alison means by that, but doesn't dare ask. Besides, a moment later they are walking through the doors into the loud cafeteria. 

It doesn’t really occur to him, somehow, until right then, that the cafeteria is, well, a very crowded place, a place where he will be in front of all the people that potentially despise him now. He has to resist the immediate urge to shrink into himself at the sight of all the people there. He hunches his shoulders defensively and curls his hands into fists, but other than that he refuses to let his body language show any of his trepidation. Teenagers are like sharks, they will attack at the slightest sign of weakness. But it’ll be fine, he tells himself. They’ve all forgotten about you, and if not- If not- Just. Fuck them. Ignore them.

And he would, but the three of them come within sight of the table Tendo normally sits at, and Tendo’s normal friends are all sitting there, including...Cara. There are two empty seats at the end of the table, presumably for Tendo and Alison, and then there are a few of their friends, and then there’s Cara, and then there’s another empty seat. 

Like hell. Like _hell_. He can’t do it. He can’t sit at the same table as Cara. He can’t sit next to her. 

_She said you enjoyed it_.

He doesn’t even want to look at her. Her smirking face is disgusting to him. All the ugly words she has said to him, and that have been said to him because of her; he'd like to pretend they never hurt him, and that he doesn't care what anyone thinks of him, but he can feel all that ugliness twisting in his brain like a nest of snakes, biting at him with venomous fangs. How could she have said all those things about him? So cruel, so _unfair_. He understands cruelty, but how can a person be so utterly unfair? She had no right to tell everyone what happened, and she isn't even telling the truth. And he’s never done anything to her to deserve this. 

And how can Tendo be sitting with her? Hermann knows they are friends, but how can they be? Doesn’t Tendo even care- But no, he probably doesn’t. He probably doesn’t even know she's the one spreading the rumors. Cara is his friend, a friend that is far more well-liked - by everyone - than Hermann, so he probably hasn’t heard anything awful about her. Even if Hermann were to tell him the truth, who is to say he would believe Hermann? Or would pick Hermann over her? His annoying, nerdy, freak friend that no one likes, or a funny, pretty friend that everyone likes? 

“Hermann?” Alison says softly. Hermann realizes he stopped dead in the middle of the cafeteria. “Are you okay? You don’t look good all the sudden.”

“Um- I, I realized I don’t have any money for lunch,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even.

“I can lend you some money-”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m, ah, I’m not really feeling well either, I think I’d rather go somewhere quiet for a bit.” It’s not really a lie. He’s about as sick feeling as he was this morning. If he didn’t know it was just due to him stressing himself out he’d be really convinced he was actually about to be sick. “Bye,” he adds on briefly, and flees to the library before anyone can stop him, and there he can sit in quiet misery until at least he doesn’t feel so shitty. Physically, that is. He still feels like a shit person. Because he is. Jealous and pathetic and weak. He just wants this day to be over. He wants it to be Wednesday.

 

Newton’s house is a smallish bungalow not too far from Tendo’s house, but far enough that Hermann is fairly sure he isn’t in the same school zone as them. That would explain why Hermann has never encountered him at school, which surely he would have at one point if they had gone to the same middle or high school, even despite Newton’s skipped grades. 

Hermann lingers on the front porch - painted a bright spring green - looking over the house before he can build up the nerve to knock. It’s the sort of house that would probably be called cute, smaller than Hermann’s house, and older. There’s a front garden blooming with spring flowers, and a lawn that is starting to be in need of mowing. He wonders if that’s Newt’s job. The image of tiny Newt fighting with a big lawnmower is more amusing than it ought to be, and helps him relax enough to knock. 

He distantly hears Newt holler, “Coming!” and the sound of feet pounding on wood floors. The door is flung open a second later. “Hermann! Hi!” Newt says breathlessly. And then, “Fuck, no!” startling Hermann until he sees that Newt is looking down, not at him, and follows his gaze to see him sticking a foot out to block a fat gray cat from escaping through the door. Newt bends over and gathers the cat up into his arms - the cat does not look pleased with this - and says, “Sorry, sorry, he always tries to escape- Um, come in, come in.” 

Hermann slips in and Newt shuts the door behind him, dropping the cat rather carelessly to the ground as soon as there is no longer a danger of it escaping. It makes an indignant sound and stalks into the room to jump up onto an overstuffed couch against one wall. “You don’t have to take your shoes off, but you can if you wanna,” Newt says. 

Hermann doesn’t move, too busy looking around him. The front door leads directly into some sort of living room space, same as it does in his own home, but the two rooms couldn’t be more different. Where Hermann’s house is all wide open spaces, white walls and gray or black furniture, everything spare and simple, no unnecessary objects and absolutely no mess permitted, Newt’s is couches and armchairs that don’t match scattered about, colorfully painted walls, books and pillows and dishes left out haphazardly. There’s a small piano in one corner, and a guitar leaning up against it. If Hermann were to make this sort of mess, his father would- Hermann honestly can’t imagine what his reaction would be. Not good. Still, though, although Hermann doesn’t think he could personally enjoy this sort of chaos, there’s something rather homey and comfortable about it. 

“Sorry if it’s a bit of a mess,” Newt says awkwardly, and Hermann realizes he is staring. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Hermann insists, recalling his manners, and toes off his shoes, because it’s a habit that’s hard to break. 

Before he can venture forward into the room, Newt says, “Um, okay, just-” and jumps in front of him. Hermann raises his eyebrows. “It’s just,” Newt says, lowering his voice. “I thought I’d be alone, but, um, my uncle has popped in for a bit, he should be gone soon, no worries, but, uh, just so you know-”

“Newt!” someone shouts. Convenient timing, Hermann supposes, because if it had come before Newt told him someone was here, he would have jumped out of his skin at that shout. Newt grimaces apologetically. “ _Is your friend here?_ ”

And that’s strange, because after a second, Hermann realizes the man is shouting in German. 

“ _Yeah, he just got here!_ ” Newt shouts back, also in German. 

A moment later, someone thrusts their head through an open entryway across the room. Hermann almost wants to laugh at the sight of him, because the person, a man probably in their early thirties, looks remarkably like Newt. Average height, stocky build, short, unruly hair - blond instead of Newt’s gold brown - glasses, an instantly friendly smile. Hermann would have known he was related to Newt without being told. 

“Hi!” the man says, English now. “It’s always nice to meet friends of Newt!” 

Hermann can see, out of the corner of his eyes, Newt rolling his eyes. 

“Well, are you going to introduce us?” the man demands.

Newt sighs and says briskly, “Uncle, this is Hermann, Hermann, this is my Uncle Illia. Now, we’re gonna go hang out in my room, okay, so just-”

“ _He’s cute, this one,_ ” Illia says approvingly. “ _Much cuter than the last one you brought home. He your boyfriend?_ ”

Newt throws his hands up in the air. “ _Ugh! He’s just a friend! Stop assuming I wanna fuck everyone I bring home!_ ”

Illia just laughs. “ _Sure, sure,_ ” he agrees. “ _Just make sure to leave the door open, at least till I’ve gone._ ” 

“ _Shut up,_ ” Newt complains, and then, back to English, “Come on, Hermann, my room is this way.”

Hermann follows blankly after as Newt leads him down a hallway, stopping to loudly fling open a door that has “NEWT” written across it in large, colorful letters. The room is about equivalently as messy as the living room, with posters of books and movies and bands taped haphazardly to the wall, another guitar in the corner, and laundry and books tossed across the floor. Newt throws himself on the bed in the corner, and then looks up at Hermann standing in the doorway, and-

“Dude, why are you so red?” he says, surprised. 

Oh. Yes. He’s definitely red. His face feels like it’s on fire. _He’s cute_. That’s- That’s-

He bites his lips and says stiffly, in that language, “ _I speak German._ ” 

Newt stares at him. Goes red too. Probably the first time Hermann has seen him blush. “Fuck!” he shouts, and buries his face in his hands. “Oh my god, dude, I’m so sorry, fuck, Uncle Illia is always so embarrassing but at least he’s usually embarrassing in another language but of course you speak German, of course you do. Fuck!” 

“Sorry,” Hermann offers.

“No, no, don’t apologize, this is just- Super humiliating, yay.” 

“It’s a rather peculiar coincidence,” Hermann says thoughtfully. “That we both speak it.” 

“Yeah,” Newt agrees, pulling his head out of his hands at last. “Oh, dude, why are you just lurking in the doorway, come in.”

Newt’s blankets are all balled up on the end of his bed, but the sheets look clean enough, and although there is an actual chair, in front of a small wooden desk, it’s covered in books and other junk, so Hermann sits down on the edge of Newt’s bed. And fidgets. He folds his hands in his laps to stop from drumming his fingers. “So, ah, this is probably none- No, never mind.”

“What?” Newt says curiously.

Hermann shakes his head. “It’s none of my business, never mind.” 

“Nah, but now you gotta ask or else the curiosity will kill me, and if it’s really not your business, I won’t tell.”

“Okay,” Hermann says slowly. “Um. Your uncle asked, uh, if I was your boyfriend as if that was- So, ah, are you gay? I, I know that’s rude to ask.”

It’s really not any of his business and he’s angry with himself for asking but he’s also been curious about this since the start. 

Newt just laughs though, without any sort of apparent discomfort. “Ohh, that,” he says knowingly. “I mean, I guess it is kinda rude to ask, but whatever, I don’t really care. And. No, I’m not gay.” 

Hermann immediately feels...strange. So. Not gay. But has been kissing Hermann. With what seemed like enthusiasm. What does that mean- But, no, it’s just kissing, just because you kiss someone of the same gender as you and enjoy it, that probably doesn’t mean you’re gay, right-

“I’m pansexual,” Newt continues lightly. 

Hermann has to confess, “I don’t know what that is, actually.” 

Newt cocks his head thoughtfully. “Hmm...It’s basically, like, being attracted to all genders. Like, gender doesn't even really play into it, I'm just attracted to people I find attractive, and they could be any gender. Like, I dunno, the way I understand it is, when you’re bi, you are attracted to two or more genders but the gender aspect still matters, like- Like, girls are hot _and_ guys are hot _and_ nb people are hot. And being pan, for me at least, is more like...everyone is hot! Except, not everyone obviously, it’s not like I wanna fuck everyone I see, that’d be- Not that there would be anything wrong with it if someone did feel like that- I don’t think I’m explaining this very well-”

“No, I think I get it,” Hermann says thoughtfully. 

Newt gives him an odd look, sort of expectant. Hermann stares back, not sure what Newt is expecting of him. “Well?” Newt demands at last. “Aren’t you gonna tell me that that’s not a real thing, or that it makes me slutty, or at least make the stupid ‘does that mean you wanna fuck pans’ joke?”

“What?" Hermann says blankly. "No. Why would I? If you say that’s what you are, that’s good enough evidence for me. And obviously ‘pan’ here means the suffix meaning all, not the cooking implement, that’s a pretty daft joke- Why are you looking at me like that?”

Because, again, Newt is looking at him strangely. It’s more examining now, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he peers into Hermann’s face. “I dunno,” he says at last, leaning back. “I just thought you’d, I dunno, be weird about it.” 

“Why should I be?” Hermann snaps, annoyed. “You know Tendo is bi, right, that doesn’t bother me, so why should you be any different?” 

“I don’t get you at all,” Newt says. “I thought I had you figured out, but nope, I don’t get you at all.” 

“And I don’t get what the hell you’re talking about the majority of the time,” Hermann growls. 

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Common problem when people talk to me.” 

“Is it also common to get really irritated from talking to you?” Hermann snaps

“Yeah,” Newt says cheerfully. He winks. “I’m guessing that’s a problem you have too.” 

And that is more fair than Hermann cares to admit, so he simply scowls. 

After a charged pause, Newt sighs and mutters, “Wish my uncle would just get out already.” 

“Why do you and your uncle both speak German?” Hermann asks, as this seems to be a safer conversational topic, and they don’t have much else to do other than talk right now, with Newt’s uncle so nearby and the door open. 

(His uncle seems so calm about Newt being pansexual. Hermann can’t imagine his father taking the news anywhere near so calmly. It makes him ache with an odd sort of jealousy.)

“We’re from Germany, actually. My dad and uncle grew up there, and I was born there. My uncle moved here for work after he graduated from college, and my dad and I moved here to be near him when I was a little kid. So. We’re all fluent in both English and German, though my uncle is probably the only one of us that is equally good at both. I am, to the great disappointment of all, better at English than German.” 

And...No mention of a mother. Hermann feels a sort of relief at that, and understands why Newt didn’t ask about his own mother the other day. No matter what his family’s situation is, whether it is the same or different, he probably understands how awful it is to have people always asking. Hermann doesn’t ask. He nods understandingly. 

“How about you?” Newt asks. “Why do you speak it? I mean, what’s a kid with a British accent who speaks German doing at an American school?” 

“Fairly similar situation to you,” Herman says with a shrug. “My family is from Germany originally. My…” He falters, just for an instant, to his own anger and shame. “My mother’s side of the family is British, so that’s why my siblings and I have an accent. Spent a lot of summers there as a child. And then when I was about twelve, we moved here for...my dad’s work.” It was a little more complicated than that. But Hermann doesn’t care to talk about that. 

“Oh, that makes sense,” Newt says. “D’you ever miss it? Germany, I mean. I can’t remember it that well, I was too little, but I’d really like to go there again, maybe live there for a bit.” 

He does miss it, but he’s not sure it’s so much the country as just that whole time period. Maybe it’s looking back with rose-colored glasses, but it seems like everything was simply better then. All the same, he’s not sure he could bear to go back now. At least not to his hometown. He remembers things being so much better there, but the memories are, nonetheless, painful ones. 

In the end, he settles for a noncommittal “I suppose.” 

“That’s a super helpful answer, dude, thanks.”

“What do you want from me, a bloody essay?” Hermann snaps. God it is hard to talk to his boy. 

“You don’t have to answer in paragraphs, Herms-” There’s that nickname again. “-But normal people do this thing called conversing, wherein one person makes a comment or a question and the other responds in a way that gives space for the first person to make a follow up remark. Are you familiar with this concept, or is this brand new, am I blowing your mind right now?”

“Maybe I just don’t want to converse with you!” Hermann says, fully aware of how childish it is. 

Sure enough, Newt widens his eyes as if scandalized and says, “Wow, real mature.”

“You’re one to call people ‘mature’-”

“Says the high schooler to the college student-”

“That only measures your parents’ willingness to let you skip grades, not your maturity, it’s not as if you’re older than me!”

“Age doesn’t measure maturity either- and, actually, how old are you? And I’m pretty sure that a year of college does so make me more mature than you.” He grins suddenly and cocks a finger at Hermann. “I’m your senpai.”

Hermann rolls his eyes so hard it’s miraculous they don’t fall out of his eye sockets. But, peculiarly, he also finds himself hiding a smile. “I absolutely refuse to call you that. And I’m sixteen, seventeen soon.”

“I can’t believe you even know what ‘senpai’ means. This is confirmed proof that you are weeaboo trash. Incredible. And by soon, how soon do you mean?”

“I am not ‘weeaboo trash,’ fuck you!” Hermann protests. He only watches a few anime. Possibly he has watched _NGE_ through several times. Doesn’t make him an anime nerd. “Besides, you’re the one that brought it up in the first place!” 

“I would never deny I was weeaboo trash,” Newt says airily. “And, dude, how soon?”

“How soon what?”

“Do you turn seventeen?”

“Oh, right, that,” he says. He has to pause and consider. Today is...the sixth. Of June. Time always starts to fly at the end of the school year (although not as much as he wishes it would, considering how awful school has been lately). So, therefore his birthday is… “Oh,” he says. “It’s this Saturday. Huh, I didn’t realize.” 

Newt, who had been slumped down on his bed, sits up so violently that there’s a moment where Hermann thinks he is seizing. But no, he merely seems to be excited. “This Saturday is your birthday?” he says. Squeaks. “Dude! How could you not realize that? What are you doing? I’m very insulted you haven’t invited me to your birthday, s’rude of you, you’d think making out would count for something-”

“I’m not doing anything,” Hermann interrupts. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“Not a big deal?” Newt echoes. “It’s your birthday! I mean, I get that you won’t like, have a themed party and invite the whole class like you were in elementary school or something, but you should do _something_!”

“My family doesn’t really celebrate birthdays,” Hermann says. His family doesn’t really _remember_ birthdays; or, more specifically, his father doesn’t, and the rest of them followed suit because it was easier that way. His father hasn’t remembered his birthday since he was thirteen years old, and even then, he didn’t remember it until a week late, and the year before that he didn’t remember until a week and a half late, and the year before that he didn’t remember at all. But to be fair that was a difficult year. Still, with all that, it became quietly agreed in their family that they don’t really do birthdays. Or holidays in general, really. Dad isn’t around half the time anyway. 

“That’s sad.”

“It’s not,” Hermann says. It comes out harsh and frozen, and Newt flinches in surprise.

“Yeah, okay, dude. Um. Sorry.” He pauses, perhaps waiting for Hermann to assure him it’s fine, which Hermann does not feel particularly interested in doing, and then says, “Well, still, we should do something, if you’re free.” 

“Do something?” Hermann asks skeptically. 

Newt bites his lip and smiles hesitantly. “Yeah, I mean...I was thinking, you know, there’s this movie I really wanna see, I was kinda thinking of asking you anyway, and if it’s your birthday...We should go this Saturday. I’ll even buy your ticket, considering the occasion.”

“A movie?” Hermann says. “T-together?” Together. At a movie. Isn’t that…

“As part of the experiment,” Newt says hastily. “You know, mixing up the variables, trying a new location, seeing what being in public provokes, that sort of thing.”

There’s a strange mixture of relief and something that might be disappointment. He ignores it to say, “Right, of course- Ah, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with-” He glances at the door and lowers his voice. “Kissing in public.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna leap on you in public and shove my tongue down your throat in front of everyone,” Newt says with a laugh. “Unless you want me to, of course. But I was just thinking that, uh, just being together in a new environment might cause new reactions, and we could go from there. And I really wanna see this movie, also.” 

Well. If it’s just part of the experiment. 

“I suppose we can do that,” Hermann says, as if he’s only agreeing for Newt’s sake. “What movie is it, again?”

You’d think from the way Newt lights up in response that Hermann had promised to take him to Disney World or something like that. “Great!” he says enthusiastically. “The movie is called _Mouse and Sparrow_ , maybe you’ve-"

“That sci fi movie? I’ve been wanting to see that too!” Hermann exclaims. 

“Yeah, it looks really cool, right? Just lemme check the times, let’s see what’s good…” He has a small, silver laptop sitting on his desk, and he pulls it onto his lap and navigates to a site that shows movie listings, Hermann looking over his shoulder to help identify a good time and theater. He doesn’t fail to notice that the background of Newt’s computer is an image of a giant monster that Hermann is fairly sure is Godzilla. They end up settling for a movie showing around one in the afternoon, in a theater in the downtown part of town, and agree that Newt will pick Hermann up at his house. “So glad I’m finally gonna see this movie,” Newt sighs happily as he closes his laptop back down. Then he puts up a hand to his mouth and with no warning shouts, “HEY, ARE YOU STILL HERE, UNCLE ILLIA?”

“YES, BRAT CHILD,” comes back the answer. 

“Ugh,” Newt sighs. “So much for ‘leaving soon…’” He purses his lips thoughtfully. “Hey, uh, you wanna play some video games while we wait?”

There’s nothing else to do, so Hermann tentatively agrees. Newt leads him back out to the chaotic living room and gestures at him to sit down on the couch as he switches on a television and gaming console. The cat from earlier is still sitting on the couch, and Hermann can’t resist offering it his hand to sniff and then gingerly patting its head when it seems to find the smell of him acceptable. The cat closes its eyes and butts into his hand, and Hermann smiles. 

“Aw, you’re bonding with Liszt,” Newt says, sitting down on the couch next to him and handing him a controller. “Normally he hates people. Good for you.”

“Liszt?”

“Like the rock star composer,” Newt explains. “Anyway, dude, what do you wanna play? I have-”

“I don’t really know any video games, so I don’t have a preference.” Newt frowns at him, puzzled, so Hermann adds, “We don’t have any consoles at my house. I’ve only ever played with Tendo. I probably won’t be very good.”

“No con- Don’t you have like, three brothers? And a sister too, actually, I won’t discriminate based on gender.”

“I have two brothers,” Hermann corrects. “And my father doesn’t really approve of things like that.” They’re hardly even allowed to watch TV. Hermann only has Netflix because Dietrich secretly got an account and shared the password with his younger siblings. Hermann has to make sure to never watch it when Dad is around. Has to make sure to only be doing school related things with the laptop that he and Bas share when Dad is around.

Newt clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “I’ve never gotten that sorta attitude,” he mutters. “Well, guess it just means I’ll be able to really crush you.” 

“As if I could ever lose to someone like you,” Hermann says, provoked by Newt's superior attitude. 

Newt makes a ridiculous, outraged sort of squeaking noise, and says, “Oh _really_ -” and Hermann has to put a hand over his mouth to not laugh at him.

Newt ends up picking out a fighting game that Hermann has never heard of for them to play and has to tell him how to do such basics as even picking a character to fight with. It’s been awhile since Hermann has played a video game. Probably not since freshman year with Tendo. He has no idea what he’s doing; predictably, Newt kicks his ass the first round. And is unbearably smug about it, the prick. 

But he’s starting to get the hang of it. Or rather, he’s realized that if you repeatedly hit the x button, the character will relentlessly strike at their opponent. So he does that, occasionally varying it up with a different button just to see what that does, and, much to his amusement, this is so successful as to actually drive Newt’s character off of the platform - rather improbably floating in the air - that the characters are fighting on, and this counts as a victory.

“What was that about crushing me?” he asks, grinning.

“Aw, dude, that was no fair, you were just button mashing and I was trying to use combos and stuff-”

“Yes, but I won, didn’t I?”

“Just because-”

“Didn’t I?”

“Well-”

“Just say it, Newton, admit that I won, I beat you-”

“I’ll beat you the next time!” Newt snaps - although Hermann can tell his anger isn’t real - and starts up another round.

Hermann wins again. 

“Man, fuck you, it’s no fun if you just button mash!”

“Maybe I’m just better than you.” 

“There’s no way that’s true!” Newt declares, and activates the next round.

Hermann, mostly out of curiosity, does attempt to use some “combos” this time, which is probably why he loses. “Damn-”

“Ah, I knew it was just beginner’s luck!”

“Luck!” Hermann scoffs contemptuously. “We’ll see about luck!” 

New game. They both hunch seriously over their controllers, inclining themselves toward the television screen as if the closer they get, the faster their avatars will respond, pressing the buttons and manipulating the joysticks with the greatest focus, hissing curses or joyful exclamations depending on how well their character is doing. They are so narrowly focused on the screen that they hardly react to Newt’s uncle shouting a farewell as he exits through a side door, Newt halfheartedly shouting “Bye!” and then “Fuck!” as Hermann scores a hit.

This round lasts longer than the any of the previous ones. Hermann is mainly relying on his initial tactic of button mashing, but he’s throwing in some combos too, and he’s starting to get the hang of it, enough so that after a very narrow battle wherein both of their character’s health bars are edged down nearly to zero, he finally knocks Newt’s character’s health down to zero. 

“Ha!” he shouts victoriously, tossing the controller down onto the couch, turning to Newt with a smug grin, all prepared to rub it in; only then, Newt is looking at him with this furious, hungry expression, quite unlike anything he has ever seen, so that the breath is all stolen from his lungs and a curious warmth is instantly kindled, and despite that he still isn’t really prepared for Newt to lunge across the couch and pin Hermann down and kiss him very thoroughly. 

He isn’t prepared, so perhaps that is why his mind decides to simply shut down and hand control over his body, so that he parts his lips and puts his arms around Newt’s neck and respond with at least equal enthusiasm. 

It is consuming, the kiss is, it is taking and Hermann gladly gives, and Newt is giving too, like wild energy leaping between them, he almost understands why the trashy romance novels that Karla likes to read and laugh at always describe fireworks behind the eyes, it is nearly like fireworks, or perhaps Newt is, with his wild bursts of energy, and Hermann clings to him and feels like he is on the verge of exploding, and what happened to control, to boundaries, to predictability, he is meant to like those things but right now he would like to explode. 

When Newt pulls away, Hermann is left lying on the couch - he’s not sure how he got from sitting up to lying down - with Newt kneeling over him, panting and hot and reeling. 

“D-dang,” Newt says. He’s gasping a little too, although not as much as Hermann, and for the first time has also distinctly flushed. 

Hermann has not nearly pulled together enough of his mind yet to speak words.

“I- Uh- I’m sorry, that was, that was kinda aggressive, should I have asked first, w-was that too much? Hermann? Dude, are you okay?”

It was too much but not in a bad way, if that’s possible. He shakes his head, and manages to find words. “I-it’s fine, r-really fine, good even, I-” Newt is still kneeling over him, he can feel Newt’s knees on either side of him, he is in fact hyper aware of that, and it is too much, he’s about to humiliate himself. “I just need a second,” he gasps, and somehow wiggles out from underneath Newt - a little twist of pain in his bad leg - and then he would run to the bathroom, if he was a person that was capable of running without looking ridiculous, which he is not, so instead he walks very fast. 

The bathroom is a small, cool space, white tile floor and pale green walls, somehow terribly at odds with the rest of the colorful, wild house, but very much what Hermann needs at this moment. He sits carefully on the edge of the bathtub and gulps in several shaking breaths. 

There is a sink across from where he is sitting, and a mirror above it, at such a height that he can see himself in it perfectly from here. He is very red, and hectic looking, a bright, feverish gleam in his eyes so that he hardly recognizes himself.

He liked that. He liked that very much. Hermann is a person that likes control and likes being in control of himself but he very much liked being pushed down and kissed roughly by Newt. He likes kissing Newt and he liked that a lot and he needs very much to stop thinking about how much he liked that.

It’s bloody hard to think of anything else, though, when his skin is still afire with the touch of Newt’s lips, the warmth of his body hovering over Hermann’s. He looks almost desperately around the small room for something to focus on, and ends up settling for the white floor tiles, counting down the rows of them, the numbers settling neat and simple into his mind until, a few minutes later, he glances into the mirror again and finds he looks like himself. 

He’s settled down enough by then to realize that running for the bathroom probably looked very odd, and that he is hiding in here like a child, and he really ought to leave and, if not explain himself to Newt - what would he even say? _I was shocked to suddenly realize being manhandled sort of turns me on_? Not bloody likely - then provide some sort of excuse for his rude behavior.

Oh dear. He hopes he hasn’t ruined all of this...trial of the experiment. It’ll probably be terribly awkward, probably no more-

At this point he realizes he very sincerely wants Newt to kiss him again, to kiss him like _that_ again, and what the hell does that mean, and he goes back to fixedly counting tiles on the floor, starting from the opposite end of before. He calms down more quickly this time. The key, he’s fairly sure, is to not think. 

He stands up with a sigh, his bad leg a little sore from sitting so long in an awkward position on cool tile. He takes a moment to steady himself on the counter, make sure that it’s only a small ache and nothing to worry about, and his eyes land on a pill bottle next to the sink. A little orange bottle, like what one receives from the pharmacy, the sort of thing that Hermann himself is perfectly familiar with, and the name on the label is “Newton Geiszler.” A terrible curiosity seizes him, to read the rest of the label, see if it lists the medication name, he could memorize and google- but that would be awful of him, a terrible invasion of privacy upon someone that he hardly even knows, and he hastily banishes it and refuses to let himself read the rest of the label. None of his business. He turns resolutely away and exits the bathroom to return to the living room.

Newt is in the same spot on the couch, kneeling and crumpling and un-crumpling his t-shirt in his hands. He jumps to his feet as soon as Hermann appears. “Dude, are you okay, I'm sorry-” he babbles.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Hermann says hastily. “I just, ah, um, was a little overwhelmed, I suppose.”

“I’m really sorry,” Newt says again, the picture of sincerity.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Hermann mumbles. “It, um, it wasn’t bad. At all.”

Newt tilts his head to the side. Narrows his eyes. Begins to smile thoughtfully. “Rea-”

“Shall we play another round of that game of yours?” Hermann says loudly.

“Sure, sure,” Newt agrees with a smirk.

Playing is not so intense this time, but there’s a moment, a round in which Newt is winning, and Hermann glances over at him. He’s smiling, a broad, innocently happy grin, and his hair is a mess because whenever he loses or gets frustrated he rakes his hand through his hair, and his glasses are resting slightly crooked on his face, the lenses terribly dusty, and behind that his eyes are an indefinable gray-green-blue, sparkling with enthusiasm and laughter. He’s tiny on the couch, next to Hermann, kneeling in an awkward position with all his weight on the balls of his feet, bouncing up and down, like a tiny ball of energy, but his shoulders are broader than Hermann’s and his arms are covered with more of those golden freckles.

He’s cute. 

The thought enters his head unbidden. He looks at Newt, meant to be only a glance only then he’s staring, hardly even aware of the TV screen any more, and he thinks that Newt is cute. And he wants to kiss him and touch him. And make him laugh more and make him make that ridiculously scandalized and outraged expression he gets when Hermann wins. He’s cute. 

Fuck. 

He can’t put off the realization, then, that not only does he like kissing Newt, but he is also... _attracted_ to him. Those are things that don’t necessarily go together, and Hermann had been trying to tell himself that liking kissing him didn’t mean being attracted to him; but in this case, it does. The realization makes him nervous, an uneasiness that rests in the pit of his stomach, but the key, he reminds himself, is to just not think about it, so he refocuses on the game soon enough to lose, and keeps his focus after that until Newt pauses the game in the middle of the round to pin Hermann down and kiss him again, and he doesn't think about how much he likes it as he puts his hands on Newt's back and kisses him with just as much fervor as Newt is kissing him. 


	6. Trial 4, New Location 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't think of anything clever to say here so I'll just literally describe the plot: Newt and Hermann go see a movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German in italics.

Hermann can’t decide what to wear. He stands in front of his open closet with a towel tied around his waist and his damp hair dripping water down his face, and he stares into the closet with a mystified expression. Jeans, okay, he can do that, but how is it that all of his jeans are either too baggy or too short or are torn at the knees and cuffs? Not artfully torn, either, just worn out. It’s just not bloody fair, he’s too thin for his height, it’s absolutely impossible to find jeans that are the correct length and not too loose but not so tight that they are difficult to pull on when his bad leg is particularly bad. And normally he doesn’t even _care_ , it’s just clothes, and all right, Karla makes fun of him and insists that everyone will think he’s a nerd if he dresses such and such a way, but he’s never cared before. He _is_ a nerd, and he doesn’t want to make friends or impress anyone, so what does it matter? 

It doesn’t matter now either. But then, somehow it does, when he thinks of Newt’s smile, the hungry way he looked at Hermann Wednesday, the text from yesterday reminding him that today is their date to the movie. _Date_. He called it a date, that is the word that Newt wrote, date. 

His black jeans aren’t too worn out, and so long as he wears them with his high top converse, it isn’t so noticeable that they are a tiny bit short, and they are probably the least baggy of all his jeans. That will have to work. He snatches them out of his closet and tosses them onto his bed before he can change his mind.

Of course, next up is the question of shirts, and that is even worse. It’s June now, the beginning of summer, shaping up to be hot today, so a t-shirt seems as if it would be the best choice. But then, they are going to a movie theater, and it’s always cool in theaters and Hermann is so thin that he gets cold easily, so should he wear a long sleeve shirt instead? Maybe a jumper? A jumper with a t-shirt underneath it? A t-shirt but also bring along a jumper? Oh god, he never knew clothes could be this complicated, and he is, he is being _ridiculous_ , it’s just Newt, he’s a bloody bio major, for god’s sake, who cares what the hell he thinks? And it’s not even a real date, it’s just experimental, part of the experiment, it’s not like...like Newt actually wants to take Hermann out on a date.

Or like Hermann would want to be taken out by him, of course. 

Karla says dark colors look good on him, so he grabs a gray and black striped long sleeved shirt that his sister had once told him made him look “slightly less socially anxious than usual.” He still doesn’t really know what that means, but it sounds like a good thing, so that’ll have to do. 

With these difficult decisions made, he is at last able to get dressed. Then, of course, all he has to do is go out and jitter nervously in the living room, attempting to do homework - which is really starting to pile up, now that finals are in sight, but is still an easy amount for him to handle - but mostly just watching the clock until it is time for Newt to show up. He’s half expecting a text from Newt saying, _Never mind, this is ridiculous, why the fuck would I want to go on a ‘date’ with /you/_ , or something like that. 

No such text is forthcoming, but half an hour before the movie is due to start - Hermann worries that that might be cutting it a little close - he receives a text from Newt reading, _waitin outside ur house!_ Hermann clambers to his feet a trifle faster than is perhaps necessary, and starts to head for the front door...only to notice his father, home for once and sitting as still and silent as ever on a couch and working on a laptop, is staring at him questioningly, and to realize that he did not, in fact, ever think to mention to him that he was planning to go out today. 

He’s just so used to his father not being home. And ever since Dietrich left for college three years ago, there hasn’t been anyone consistently home that Hermann was supposed to check in with or so on. Karla isn't the sort to give a damn what he does in his free time so long as he comes home at a reasonable time and behaves, which he always does, and anyway he's really so much more responsible than his older sister (who is, after all, only older by a year and a few months) that they both rather felt it was ridiculous for her to be in charge of him. And so perhaps he’s gotten unaccustomed to anyone caring what he does or where he goes. 

His father raises an imperious eyebrow. “ _Going somewhere?_ ”

Hermann swallows nervously. _Why, yes_ , he imagines saying, _I’m going to go on a date with an attractive boy that I’ve made out with before in the past so that I can determine why it is I react strangely to his presence and to kissing him_. 

“ _I’m going to go see a movie with a friend_ ,” he explains carefully, and then, in response to some incremental increase of the frown on his father’s face, he adds, “... _If that’s okay_?”

If that’s okay. Even though his father doesn’t give a damn what Hermann does when he isn’t home, which is most of the time. 

“ _You’ve finished all your homework, of course_.” Oh, dammit, Hermann hates when he does that, stating something as a fact instead of a question, so that if it isn’t true the person he’s speaking to is forced to disagree, to admit that he has failed to do something that Lars had expected him to do. Of course. 

Hermann tries his best to never have to contradict these statements, to never be forced to disappoint his father yet again, but...he doesn’t always succeed. And now, he looks at the pile of mostly completed homework on the table. Mostly completed. Really, really close, probably a half hour of work at the most. 

Mustn’t make excuses. “ _Not yet_ ,” he says flatly. Mumbling makes it worse, he has to speak clearly. 

His father sighs and shakes his head slightly. “ _Hermann, I-_ ”

A loud honk rings out from the driveway. Lars turns to look out the front window with a frozen expression on his face, as if he simply cannot believe that someone would dare to do something so rude as honk. 

Hermann ruthlessly seizes the opportunity. “ _My friend is waiting for me, he already came all the way here and he’s already bought the tickets. I know it was rude of me to forget to consult you, but to just leave him waiting is a bit…_ ”

Lars so hates to be rude. 

His mouth settles into a thin, flat line, but he says icily, “ _Very well, go on. We'll talk about this later_.” 

He wants to say thank you, but to do so would be to acknowledge this is a favor, and if it’s a favor his father can rescind it, so he simply nods and says, “ _I won’t be back late_ ,” and goes out the door rather as if he is fleeing. 

There is a car sitting in the driveway. It is small and blue and slightly battered. The passenger side door is open, Newt hanging out of it and looking a bit anxious. He bursts into a smile when he sees Hermann. The lingering bad feeling of that almost-fight with his father vanishes the instant Newt smiles like that, and a small answering smile starts on his own face. 

“I was worried something had come up or so on!” Newt hollers as Hermann crosses his porch to the car. 

Hermann shakes his head. “No, no, just, uh, couldn’t find my phone as I was leaving.” Better a lie than the truth. 

Newt nods understandingly, and, as Hermann has drawn even with the car at this point, he gestures to the empty back seat and drops into his own seat in the front. Hermann has to wrestle a bit with the handle to get the door to open, but a hard yank serves to open it. 

“This is my Dad,” Newt says cheerfully as Hermann climbs into the car and conscientiously buckles himself in. “Dad, this is my friend Hermann.” 

Newt’s father twists a bit to look Hermann in the face. He’s nearly a carbon copy of the uncle from Wednesday, but with sandy colored hair traced with gray instead of blond, obviously older and more worn - although younger than Hermann’s father - and a little heavier. It’s impressive how alike the three Geiszler men look. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Geiszler says. His German accent is thicker than Hermann’s father’s.

“Yes, same to you. Thank you for picking me up and giving me a ride,” Hermann says. 

He raises his eyebrows, surprised perhaps at Hermann’s politeness. “Oh, of course, of course, it’s no trouble, I’m just glad that Newt has a nice f-”

“If we don’t leave soon we’ll probably be late!” Newt interrupts loudly. Hermann can’t imagine interrupting his own father in the same way. 

But Mr. Geiszler simply laughs, a little knowingly, and says, “All right, all right, I’m going.” 

Hermann was worried that being alone in the car with Newt and his father might be awkward. He isn’t very good at small talk or at interacting with strangers even when those strangers aren’t the father of a boy that he has recently spent a decent amount of time kissing. But Newt manages to contort himself into an uncomfortable looking position that has him facing Hermann, and without any sort of preamble he launches into talking about this movie, about the revolutionary new graphics techniques he’s heard the director (can his name really be Totoro?) apparently used, about the plot twist that all of the trailers have been hinting at, about how gorgeous the two lead actors are. Hermann is easily drawn in, curious about how one would program the sort of graphics being discussed, dismissive of Newt’s theory of what the twist will be and enthusiastic about his own prediction, a little astonished but impressed at how Newt speaks of the male actor’s looks as casually as he describes the actress’s. Although he wonders if it is just his imagination that Mr. Geiszler looks ever so slightly uncomfortable at that. 

The ride passes by quickly, partly because the movie theater is not so very far but also partly due to the interesting conversation. Hermann is surprised to find that they are already at the theater. He makes sure to thank Newt’s dad again, and then he and Newt pile out of the car and head into the movie theater. 

It’s only an early afternoon showing on a Sunday, so the lines are short. Newt insists on buying Hermann’s ticket, even though he brought enough money and was honestly expecting to buy it himself. “No way, dude, it’s your birthday! My treat!” Newt says, waving him off. It’s the same when he tugs Hermann after him into the snack line, he insists on buying each of them a soda and on purchasing a huge bucket of popcorn for them to share, despite Hermann’s protests. 

“There’s no way we can eat all that,” Hermann settles for complaining.

“Watch me,” Newt says seriously, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

“I will be absolutely disgusted if you manage to finish that-”

“Oh, here’s our theater, dude. Fuck, I’m so excited to finally see this movie, and fuck you, it’s definitely gonna turn out that the dude is a robot, that’s the twist.” 

“I’m telling you, it’s all virtual reality,” Hermann insists, lowering his voice as they enter the darkened theater. “Where do you want to sit?” The theater is mostly empty. They could sit anywhere they like

The light of the trailer beginning to play up on the screen is enough for Hermann to see Newt wiggle his eyebrows mischievously. “I know exactly where we’re gonna sit. Follow me!” 

Mystified, Hermann trails him past row and row of seats, up the low steps, all the way to the very back of the theater. The last row of seats. Newt shuffles down it carefully to the middle of the seats, the light of the projector lancing over their head, but high enough above them that it is extremely dark where he sits down. Hermann cannot see his face when he turns to look at Hermann still standing at the end of the row. “C’mon, dude, this is the best spot!” 

Hermann scowls but cannot disagree without raising his voice, which is ruder, considering the setting, than he is comfortable being, so he has to make his way through the seats too. He drops into a seat next to Newt and hisses, “How is this the best spot? The back row? The farthest away?”

“Nah, trust me, there are very specific advantages to sitting back here.”

“What, exactly, would that be, please educate me-”

He is cut off by Newt leaning in close and putting his mouth near Hermann’s ear. Very close. The tip of his nose grazes the top of Hermann’s ear, his breath tickles his cheek, and the warmth of his skin radiates against Hermann’s. Hermann has perhaps never been so highly aware of his left ear in all his life. For some reason the mere proximity is making his face burn. At least it’s dark enough in the theater that Newt won’t be able to see...but he might be able to feel it, close as he is.

“You see,” Newt breathes into Hermann’s ear, and a tingle runs through him despite Newt having what is arguably the least attractive voice in the world. “Up here, it’s very...private. Very dark.” 

“You- You don’t mean,” Hermann stammers, and lowers his voice even more. “In public? We’re in public, we can’t...do that here, what if someone sees?”

Newt’s lips brush against his earlobe, and Hermann nearly has to suffocate a squeak, who the hell knew ears were so sensitive? “That’s the point, Herms, no one _will_ see. We’re in the back, there’s no one behind us, so to see us people’d have to turn around, and there’s hardly anyone here to do that anyway, and it’s dark, so at the most all they’ll see is two kids kissing during the trailers. That’s nothing worth remarking upon, right? No one is gonna care. And no one will even see.” 

Maybe it’s just the touch of Newt’s lips on his ears, but he sounds...very persuasive. After all, it’s not like anyone will be able to tell they are both male, not when it’s so dark. That’s a very logical point. It’s really an accepted cultural norm for teenagers to kiss in movie theaters, or so he has heard, so no one will mind them if they just kiss a little bit. It’s simply rational, nothing to do with the fact that he’s going warm all over and very much wants to be touching Newt more than the soft, barely there movement of his lips on Hermann’s ears.

“Besides,” Newt continues after a pause, “This is good for the experiment, right? A new location...new variables...a teeny tiny dash of danger...who knows how it might alter things. We could learn a lot. Do it for science, Hermann.”

This leads Hermann to the thought that perhaps they should also mix up the location of the kisses themselves, perhaps Newt should actually kiss his ear, and his neck, the spot where his breath is blowing against Hermann’s neck, and the best he can get out is “Uhm-” 

Unexpectedly, Newt withdraws. Hermann immediately misses the warmth on his ear. “Uh, I mean, obviously we don’t have to if you don’t wanna, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or pressure you, um, I’m-”

Variables. Every time so far that he can think of, Newt was the one to initiate the kiss. If they are attempting to alter variables - a tiny voice in his head reminds him that really you only ought to alter one or two variables and keep the rest the same, but he firmly quashes it - then perhaps he could start the kiss, he could make Newt stop talking and saying ridiculous things and he could start the kiss. Yes. He should do that.

He misses, of course. It’s dark and he’s terribly flustered just by the thought of where they are and what he’s about to do and who is sitting next to him, and he leans over the armrest dividing them too fast and tries to find Newt’s mouth in the dark and instead he lands somewhere on his cheek. Newt makes a startled sound, and Hermann is instantly sure that he’s somehow ruined everything, totally humiliated himself, revealed himself as- as what? what is he so scared of revealing? And then he realizes Newt is just giggling, a pleasant, non-judgemental sound. “Well, okay then,” he says teasingly, and before Hermann can lean back, he puts one soft but firm hand on Hermann’s jaw to hold him in place and kisses him properly.

It’s different, like this. Kissing in the dark, the sound of the trailers in the background but sounding very far away, the faint awareness that someone could look up and back and see them, Newt’s hand cupping his jaw. It’s so much gentler a kiss than the rough ones of Wednesday, and for all that Hermann liked that, he likes this too. He parts his lips and Newt licks into his mouth gently, and Hermann represses a tiny sound. The darkness creates a sensation of intimacy, like being cradled in a tiny warm bubble of just the two of them, while the public nature of the second lends a surprisingly enjoyable tingle, like all his nerves are alive and waiting for discovery and so much more sensitive to Newt’s every touch and movement. 

He’s braced against the armrest to get closer to Newt and to hold himself in this slightly awkward position, but he finds he can free one hand and put it on the back of his neck, in his hair, Hermann is not sure why exactly he likes touching Newt’s hair so much but when he tangles his fingers in the soft strand, he can feel more than hear Newt make a sound in the back of his throat, a good sound, a pleased sort of...moan, almost, and all Hermann can think is _fuck_ and be utterly amazed and wish there was a way to get even closer and make Newt make that sound again. 

He really meant to just kiss Newt for a second, just to get the experience but have as little a chance of being noticed as possible, but somehow they kiss all the way through the trailers and don’t break apart until the movie is starting. He doesn't even notice it's begun until Newt withdraws and says breathlessly, "It's starting." For the first ten minutes at least of the movie, Hermann is so warm and buzzing so pleasantly that he can hardly focus at all. 

It’s a good movie, though, and the effects really are incredible. His attention is quickly drawn, and held without fail for an hour, until a small motion in the corner of his eye distracts him. Newt, moving to put his hand on the armrest. That’s all it is, but Hermann finds himself staring at that hand. 

This is...an experimental date, right? Not a real date, but one meant to simulate a real date. Just for experimentation. And on dates, on movie dates, people hold hands. One person puts their hand on the armrest and the other takes it, that is what he’s always seeing on TV shows and movies. Newt’s hand looks so little on the armrest, and it looks as if there is nail polish on his fingernails, which really suits him somehow, and Hermann wants to put his hand on top of Newt’s, and he wants Newt to entwine his fingers with Hermann’s and hold his hand. 

He can do it. It’s fine. And if Newt jerks his hand away, Hermann will just pretend that he hadn’t realized Newt’s arm was on the handrest. It’s totally not a big deal. It does not warrant him suddenly breaking into a cold sweat, but he still surreptitiously wipes his palm on his jeans before he lifts it and reaches out for the armrest.

Newt yawns and stretches and drops his hand to his lap. Hermann, barely even halfway to the armrest, yanks his arm back as if burnt. Fuck. What the fuck was he thinking? Holding Newt’s hand- That’s- What’s wrong with him? Thank god Newt didn't notice.

He refocuses on the movie screen with great intensity and pretends that didn’t just happen. He keeps his hands folded in his lap for the last hour-ish of the movie, clenched tight enough his nails dig into his palms, and does not allow his thoughts to stray from the movie screen to ideas such as Newt's hands. Fortunately, it really is a very gripping movie, particularly once the twist hinted at in the trailer reveals itself, and Hermann is able to put what he almost did out of his head and not think at all about _why_ he almost did that. 

The movie is good enough that he’s disappointed when the credits roll, even though the ending was very dramatic and satisfying. His eyes even stung a little bit when it seemed for a moment that the male lead might die, not that he would ever admit that to anyone. The lights go on dimly in the theater, and he and Newt look at each other in the same moment. “Ready to go?” Newt asks. Hermann nods and they both stand. 

“So, that was really good, right?” Newt bursts out as they exit the theater and enter the lobby. 

Hermann nods enthusiastically. “The effects were amazing!”

“And the actors were so good!”

“And the ending-”

“She was the robot! I can’t believe it! I totally didn’t see that coming!” 

“I can see how they foreshadowed it now, but I really didn’t expect that!” Hermann agrees.

Newt smirks. “I was right, though,” he says smugly. “One of them was a robot.”

“You thought _he_ was the robot!” 

“So I was a little off, I was still right that there was a robot! I was closer than you!”

“Some of it was virtual reality,” Hermann argues. “The part I noticed in the trailer really was virtual reality! I wasn’t exactly right, but I wasn’t wrong either!”

“I was more right,” Newt insists.

“You were not!” 

“I was so!”

“You- I refuse to argue childishly with you like this.”

Newt laughs. They’ve crossed the lobby by now. Newt is supposed to text his father to let him know they are ready to be picked up, but it’s a nice day, so they exit, blinking in the sunlight, and sit down on the low set of stairs in front of the theater for Newt to text and then to wait.

“But it really was good,” Hermann continues after a quiet sort of pause as they both sit. “You don’t really expect much scientific accuracy out of a movie like this, even if it is sci fi, but this one was pretty clever actually. The part with free fall- That’s actually how it works, I was really impressed, and when they were in zero-g, the physics of it was obviously really thought out, usually that sort of thing is all wrong in movies, which I suppose one just has to accept, but it was really brilliant that it wasn’t like that in this movie, I think the accuracy makes it far more interesting than when they screw it up for the sake of- What?”

Newt is staring at him. With a very odd expression. He has his head propped on his hand, his eyes fixed on Hermann’s face, a small, warm smile on his face. Hermann is sure he’s never seen Newt make a face like this. An odd little frisson runs through him. He doesn’t know what it is.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he demands, suddenly feeling vulnerable and shy. Is there something on his face, is he doing something wrong, is he talking too much, is he being too odd, too much of a know it all? He realizes he's smiling, and he hates his smile, he knows for a fact how ridiculous he looks when he smiles, and he forces his face into something less...embarrassing. Stupid froggy mouth. 

Newt blinks, and then starts and shakes himself. “Wha- No, I’m not staring at you!” he says defensively. Now he has gone a little bit pink. 

He absolutely was staring, but Hermann is oddly reluctant to press the issue. Newt was probably just laughing at how nerdy Hermann is anyway. “Whatever,” he mutters, scowling. 

“Uh- M-my dad says he’ll be here in a few minutes,” Newt says loudly, clearly eager to change the topic.

That reminds Hermann. “Thank you again for giving me a ride,” he says. 

Newt waves a hand dismissively. “No problem, dude. Just glad you had a good time on your birthday- You did, right?”

Hermann nods, a little surprised. When was the last time he actually had fun on his birthday? Last year he didn’t even remember it was his birthday until Dietrich texted him in the evening. And he’d considered that a _good_ birthday. The day is usually worse when he remembers that it’s his birthday. He gets all wound up, wondering if Dad will remember this year, even though he never remembers. Forgetting is definitely better. He hadn’t really thought there were any other options than forgetting or being anxious about it. He hadn’t thought it could be fun. 

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. 

Newt stares at him again, only for a few seconds, then jerks a hand through the air, a “not at all” gesture but more forceful than seems necessary. “Nah, dude, I didn’t do anything, it’s, just, whatever, glad you had fun, hope your dad doesn’t mind I took you out of the house on your birthday.”

Hermann scoffs. “No danger of that,” he mutters. Or, well, clearly he does mind, but not because it’s Hermann’s birthday. Newt tilts his head curiously, and Hermann clarifies with a sigh. “I told you, we really don’t do birthdays in my family. I mean, really, there’s hardly any point, it’s just a silly tradition.”

“Yeah, okay, no party, but like, you still do a family dinner or whatever, right?”

Hermann shrugs stiffly. “Not really.” Not at all. When Dietrich still lived at home, sometimes he would buy ice cream or something. He’s the only one to ever remember things like this, or to try to celebrate. But now that he’s hardly ever home, that’s fallen to the side. 

“Oh,” Newt says slowly. “That’s...why not?”

And for some reason, Hermann actually tells him.

“My mum really liked holidays and celebrating, and so I think, after she died, Dad just...He gave up.” He just gave up on _all_ of it, Hermann thinks unhappily. Not just birthdays and holidays. Everything. He sighs and adds, to be fair, “It feels hollow without her anyway.” 

He’s never told anyone this.

Newt says, “Oh,” again, very quietly. “Um. I’m...Uh, d-did I, did I bring up painful stuff by making you hang out today? I, fuck, I didn’t mean to do that...”

“What- No! Not at all, that’s not what I meant. I enjoyed myself, really. I wouldn’t have come if I had thought it would be otherwise.” 

“Okay,” Newt says hesitantly. “Cool. I didn’t wanna...upset you or anything, really.” 

“You didn’t,” Hermann says again. “I’d let you know if you had.”

Newt studies his face, then laughs suddenly. “Yeah, you totally would, wouldn’t you.” 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that,” Hermann says with great dignity, putting his chin up and turning a little away, but glancing at Newt through his eyelashes to make sure he sees that Hermann is joking. People very often don’t catch it when Hermann is joking. 

But Newt grins broadly, and Hermann can’t help but quirk a smile back, and after a moment the conversation turns back to the movie and lighter things, so that they are enthusiastically debating plot points and scientific verisimilitude all through the wait for Newt’s father and through the drive back to Hermann’s house. Newt is terribly stubborn, and arrogant and incapable of taking things seriously and prone to peculiar leaps of logic. Hermann only restrains himself from yelling a few times by reminding himself that he is in another person’s car and that that would be unforgivably rude. Newt has no such restraint. His voice only seems to get more shrill the more it rises in volume. It’s possibly the most fun Hermann has ever had conversing with someone. He forgets to not smile. He catches himself wishing he could kiss Newt one last time when he has to say good-bye. But it's good enough to put in one last cutting remark about how Newt is completely wrong about everything and then tack on "Bye," and duck out of the car before Newt can disagree. He hears him make an outraged squawk and stifles a laugh as he walks away.

The only problem with any of this, really, is that it means that he has entirely forgotten the way that he left things with his father. He walks up the driveway and lets himself in the side door with his head pleasantly buzzing with the vigor of that conversation/argument, and then he enters the living room and his father simply looks at him and it’s remarkably like being doused with cold water. 

“ _Next time_ ,” his father says, without any sort of greeting, “ _I would appreciate it if you would ask permission beforehand_.”

Hermann opens his mouth to explain that he just forgot, and closes it with a snap. “ _Yes, sir. Sorry_ ,” he says, and winces at the tiny trace of sullenness in his tone. 

His father does not fail to notice it. “ _I don’t feel as if that’s so very much to ask. To want to know where my sixteen year old son is gallivanting off to, with friends that I don’t even know- Who was that boy? And you haven’t even finished your homework. Really, Hermann, I expected better of you. It’s nearly the end of your school year, and your finals are coming up, and I know that you know that your grades this year are particularly important if you want to get into a good university_.”

Sixteen. 

Hermann draws a quivering breath, and the anger rears up hot and ugly inside of him. He doesn’t even know what day it is today. He doesn’t care about that sort of thing, he gave up on that sort of thing years ago, but that Hermann forgot a simple thing, that he didn’t entirely finish all of his homework, _that_ he cares about. He expects better. But what about him, when he doesn’t even try-

“I am not-”

“ _You know I prefer you speak German at home_ ,” he interrupts sharply. 

Hermann stares at him, mouth slightly open. “ _You really don’t have any idea what day it is today!_ ”

His father looks impatient. Doesn’t even spare a moment to think. “ _What on earth do you mean? What, are you referring to it being a Saturday? Just because it’s a weekend, that doesn't mean all your responsibilities vanish_.” 

Hermann opens his mouth to shout that this is his birthday, don’t you even remember or care, _Mum would care_.

But just as soon as he thinks it, the anger collapses in on itself, turns against himself instead of his father. He wouldn’t say that. He’d never say that. It’s unforgivable, the one truly unforgivable thing. He’d never say that, and he shouldn’t be saying any of this, it’s stupid to do this. Pointless. Arguing only makes it worse. Makes his father even more disappointed in Hermann than he usually is - he’s always at least a little disappointed, he is always expecting better than this - makes him colder and more superior. He won’t listen to a word Hermann says. And Hermann will feel even smaller and unhappier and even more like a disappointment. It only ever hurts Hermann. He can't remember anymore when he even bothered to try and argue, and he’s angry with himself for even thinking that thing he knows he isn’t allowed to say. He’s being childish and ill behaved, making a fuss over such a trivial thing, particularly when he knows he did do wrong in not asking for permission to go out with Newt.

He slumps his shoulders and numbly apologizes. In German. Picks up the homework he left out here earlier and retreats to his bedroom and finishes it all and ignores the hurt, angry prickling of his eyes. 

Even still, he can’t help but think that it does seem a little unfair to have his day be ruined when it was being such a lovely day.


	7. Uncontrolled Variables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff about the chapter itself: 1)This chapter talks a bit about mental health issues. I do not personally have bipolar disorder, so if I made any errors or said anything disrespectful, I apologize and will do my best to fix my mistake.  
> 2)This chapter has some slightly sexual content toward the end. It's not at all explicit, they do not actually have sex, and it is as sexual as anything is going to get in this fic, but as they are under eighteen, I figured I should tag for it. But, again, I promise, no sex in this fic.  
> Thanks!

Hermann has always been a restless sleeper. He tosses and turns and he has strange and vivid dreams and he never falls asleep quickly and the smallest of sounds can wake him up and once he is up it’s impossible to go back to sleep. This is frustrating in a lot of ways - sometimes he wishes he could just do without sleep altogether - but the one good thing about is that he’s never needed to have a very loud alarm. Simply setting his phone to buzz on silent in the morning is enough to wake him usually, particularly if he leaves his phone on his bed next to his head.

He’s dreaming long, metal hallways that lead to more long, metal hallways, with the urgent sense that there is somewhere he needs to be immediately, only no matter how fast he walks, whenever he turns a corner or goes through a door there is another endless hallway; and then there is a loud buzzing, which for a moment he thinks with a twist of dread is an alarm warning of something _awful_ happening. Then he’s sure it isn’t the right sound. Then he opens his eyes and his room is dimly lit by a white light from next to his head, which is of course his phone, and he gropes for his phone and thinks, confused and half-asleep, that it seems awfully dark for his morning alarm to be going off.

The screen is painfully bright, which compounds with his minor farsightedness (obviously, he isn't wearing his contacts while asleep) so that he has to squint just to see, and it...doesn’t quite make sense to him. It ought to just be a screen alerting him that his alarm is going off, with message to “tap to turn off alarm” or whatever it is that it normally reads. It isn’t that. Instead the screen reads the name “Newton Geiszler” and is asking him to accept or decline. 

He is still close enough to sleep that it takes him several moments to realize that his phone is not vibrating because his alarm is going off, but because Newt is calling him. Then it slowly dawns on him that it is really _very_ dark in his room. He has to hold the phone a little farther from his face to read the smaller text of the screen, but once he does, he can check the time. 

2:41 a.m. 

“What the hell?” he mumbles, and then, because his phone is still vibrating in his hand urgently, and he still is not awake enough to realize that he’s perfectly within his rights to decline the call, he hits accepts and brings the phone up to his ear, lying back in bed as he does so.

“Hello?” he says, softly, even though he is the only one home who has a bedroom on the first floor and thus is not likely to be overheard. 

Hermann is mostly expecting there to not be an answer, for this to be an instance of accidental misdial or so on. And yet- “Hermann?” Newt says through the line. “You actually answered.”

Hermann shuts his eyes. “‘S three in the morning,” he says, too sleepy for this to really be recriminating. It’s mostly a statement of fact. 

“Were you asleep?” Newt says tentatively. 

“Of course I was asleep,” he says, more irritably. “It’s Monday night, I have school t’morrow.” 

“Oh. R-right. Sorry. Of course. Uh, I’ll just, hang up, let you get back to sleep-”

There’s something very strange in his voice, something Hermann has never heard, and he’s saying, “Wait,” before he can even think. He opens his eyes again. “Is everything all right, Newt?”

“Oh yeah, just great,” Newt says, sounding bitter and shaky and rather _not_ all right. 

“Really, because you sound kind of upset, and you did just call me at two forty five in the morning.” 

Silence, and then Newt saying in a small voice, “It’s nothing, really.” 

“Newton-”

“I just kinda wanted to talk to someone, I guess, and, you know, uh, poor impulse control, told you about that, and I thought maybe you’d be up. B-but I guess not, so I’ll let you go, it’s fine.”

“Well,” Hermann says slowly. “I’m up now, you know. And I probably won’t fall asleep easily. So, ah, we can talk, if you like.” 

“R-really?” Newt says, so shakingly hopeful and worried that Hermann knows he can’t possibly say no. 

He pushes himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. He’s still not properly awake, but close enough. “Mm, it’s fine.” 

Curiously, this causes Newt to go dead quiet for several seconds. Then there’s a tiny sound like a sniff, and “Thanks, Hermann.” 

Something sort of twists in Hermann’s chest. “It’s fine,” he repeats. “Are you...You sound upset, did something happen?”

“No...Well, I mean, sorta, but it’s so ridiculous and pathetic, it’s just...It’s really silly, you’ll think it’s stupid.”

Hermann swallows at Newt’s miserable tone. “Newton,” he says carefully. Trying to sound both stern and yet also gentle. “You woke me up at three in the morning, so it can’t be that silly, and I’ll be more annoyed now if you don’t tell me.” 

It seems to achieve the effect he wants, because Newt sounds a little less anxious when he says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

“So tell me about it.”

“Okay,” Newt whispers. “Um. So. I told you this last year was my first year of university? It was...I was expecting a lot, I guess. I thought it would be way better than public school, because school sucked. I was looking forward to being around people that were actually interested in _learning_ and wouldn’t think I was weird because I was into science and stuff like that. And at first, I, I thought it was like that. There were these people I was sorta...like, I thought we were friends. And there was this girl, and- I dunno. It was weird. They were all older than me, but it was only like, two or three years older than me, and I’m smart, I was smarter than them, so I thought we could be _friends_. I never fucking had friends in high school, it sucked, no one wanted to be friends with the freak genius kid, but college is way less clique-y so I thought...But, I dunno, they were. Honestly, they were kinda jerks sometimes. There were times where it kinda s-seemed like they were just screwing with me or making fun of me, and I, I guess I really wanted friends so I kept convincing myself it wasn’t like that. And sometimes I kinda...did dumb stuff just because they said I should or I thought they’d...I dunno. And then like, I barely heard from them after the school year ended, and I tried talking to some of them and they’ve all just totally blown me off and I guess today I really realized they were just _screwing_ with me and it’s, it’s s-such fucking bullshit.” 

Oh dear. Maybe he shouldn’t have volunteered himself for this after all. Not because he doesn’t want to hear Newt’s problems, but because Newt sounds genuinely upset, and Hermann doesn’t know what to do. He’s not good at comforting people. He doesn’t really know how. _He_ usually wants to be alone when upset, so he has no idea what ordinary gestures of comfort are accepted or effective. (And there’s also a small part of him that seems to be fixating on “there was this girl.” A girl? There’s a girl?) Or maybe he should offer advice, but he’s probably the person least suited in the world to offer advice on human interaction and relationships. 

“Ah, um, that’s awful,” ends up being the best he can offer up. He winces. That was pathetic.

But Newt has built up enough steam at this point that it doesn’t seem to matter what Hermann says. “Yeah. And it’s like- It’s like, like I said, college was supposed to be better. School always sucked, I was always way too smart and no one ever knew what to do with me and everyone always thought I was weird and too young and annoying so most of them didn’t even talk to me and the ones that did were jerks, and I was bored and always in trouble and most of the teachers were just annoyed by me but didn’t care so long as I got good grades, and it just fucking sucked, and I thought college would be better. But it, it sucks too, I guess I still didn’t have friends - I mean, I sorta had Tendo, but I just met him at some random party and it’s not like we got to hang out that much - and the classes are more interesting but I’m still just either ignored or the weird genius kid, and it sucks. And no one even- Like, everyone expects that I’ll do great in college ‘cuz I’m so smart, so they don’t even listen or care when I say that it kinda sucks. Or they’ll tell me it’ll get better and I’ll love college once I’m used to it, but it’s been a whole year! It feels like they have all these expectations of who I am, Newt the child prodigy, and I, I don’t know if I am that person! Maybe I don’t wanna go to college after all! Maybe I wanna start a rock band or become a tattoo artist or something like that! But no one cares, they only care about me being the person they _expect_ me to be, and it’s not f-fair-”

Newt cuts himself off, but from the shaking sound of his breathing, Hermann suspects that Newt is crying. 

It makes his heart feel shivery and painful and he doesn’t know what to say or do, but he wants to make him stop crying. He wants to make him feel better. He doesn’t want Newt to cry, smiling and laughing suits him so much better. And what he is saying, too, it’s...it’s not unfamiliar. 

“I understand what you mean,” Hermann says in a low voice. 

There’s another sad sniff. “And there’s also- I mean, Tendo probably told you, but uh, I was diagnosed as bipolar a year ago, and I went off my meds like _one time_ , but now whenever I try and tell my dad about stuff like this he starts asking me if I’ve been taking my meds and if I’m in one of my depressive phases, like I don’t have _any_ emotions outside that, and it fucking sucks.” 

Hermann knows absolutely that to have any sort of overt reaction to that revelation is to lose Newt’s trust. He says carefully, “Tendo didn’t tell me.” 

Newt is silent for a few seconds. “Oh. Uh. G-guess I should give him more credit. Um. S-sorry for just springing it on you?”

“You didn’t ‘just spring it on me,’ you told me in a direct manner,” Hermann says reasonably. “And I...I understand why it would be upsetting to have your father...not listen to you.” 

“He’s really good usually,” Newt says, as if guilty for criticizing his father. “It’s just. Um. Ah. Um. My...my m-mom is bipolar too…”

This is why Hermann hates telling people about his mother, he hates the inevitable awkward dancing around the topic of mothers. 

“And, yeah, she and my dad had a weird relationship, and I think she made him be kinda sensitive to the whole bipolar thing. Which is also kinda unfair because I don’t think their relationship going badly had so much to do with her being bipolar as her being really...whatever. But at least him worrying about it means they were able to diagnose me pretty young and know how to cope with it…But I still kinda feel like he expects me to flip out and do something ‘crazy,’ and it’s just, it’s not _fair_ , I hate this feeling of everyone expecting all this shit of me that isn’t _true_.” 

Newt is crying. Hermann is almost positive. Newt sounds all choked and ragged. Hermann can imagine it too vividly, Newt curled up into a ball on the bed in his messy, lively bedroom, the phone pressed to his ear, tears running out of his big green eyes, and it _hurts_ , and Hermann wants to be there to comfort him, to hug him or whatever it is that one is supposed to when someone is upset. But instead he’s here and all he has is words and he’s terrible with words. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. 

“Yeah,” Newt mumbles. “Um. Thanks for listening to me, uh, whine, I guess.” 

“It wasn’t whining,” Hermann insists. “And it was no problem. I just wish I could...help, or something. But I...am not very good at making friends either.”

Newt makes a frustrated sort of huff. “No, I don’t want advice. I just wanted someone that would actually listen to me for once.” 

“Oh. I-”

“Which. I mean. You did. So. Thanks.”

“I don’t mind,” Hermann says shyly, and wonders why that is so very true. 

“Because,” Newt continues suddenly, “It’s not like there’s anything I can do about any of this. Other than stop talking to these people, I guess. But school sucks and those guys are assholes and I’m somehow supernaturally talented at making people _hate_ me and th-there’s nothing I can do about that, so I don’t want fucking advice.”

“That’s not true,” Hermann protests.

Newt says bitterly, “Oh, what, like you didn’t hate me from the first time we met.” 

Hermann wonders if blushing at the thought of their first meeting has simply become a conditioned response by now. He says hotly, “Those were particularly unusual circumstances, Newton. And I don’t know if I would say it was hate so much as-”

When he pauses Newt says in a rather different voice, “As what?”

“Surprise,” Hermann says. It sounds a little hollow. “You surprised me. But I- I don’t hate you now.” 

“...Oh.” 

“You said we were friends,” Hermann says, uncertain now. 

“I- Yeah. I just- I dunno, never mind, sometimes it’s just really easy to feel all self-pitying and think that everyone hates me, you know?”

Hermann does sort of know but is unwilling to admit that so he simply repeats firmly, “I don’t hate you.”

Newt laughs for the first time, a watery, tremulous sort of laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “I annoy the heck out of you, right, but it’s not hatred?”

Hermann slides down a little so he is half lying down. “Exactly.”

“You endure me.”

“Mmhmm.”

“But only as much as you have to, of course, and purely for the sake of _science_.”

Newt is teasing now, the tearful quality almost gone from his voice - Hermann suspects he is one of those people that bounce from emotion to emotion, something he himself has never understood or been able to do - but the answering smile that was starting on Hermann’s face fades. Because it isn’t really true anymore. What they did this weekend, with the movies...and the conversations they’ve had in the past...and most particularly this call, which isn’t the least related to their “experiment”...it’s not about figuring Newt and his reactions to Newt out. He just...what? Enjoys spending time with him? But it’s not like this phone call was _fun_ , he didn’t do it for that, he did it because he was worried about him. And it’s true now. They are friends. But he didn’t mean for that to happen and he’s not sure what it means and it worries him and he wonders if wanting to kiss your friend is just as strange as wanting to kiss a strange boy you met at a party. Or maybe it’s stranger. Maybe it’s why the word “friend” both feels very nice and not quite right. 

But he shuts his eyes and says, “Of course.” 

“You’re falling asleep, aren’t you,” Newt says accusingly. 

“No!” Hermann protests, opening his eyes and then shutting them again, because he really isn’t falling asleep, but he really is very tired. 

“Man, what kind of a teenager are you?” Newt complains. “You’re seventeen, you’re supposed to stay up till three in the morning and then get up at six and go to school and then sleep for the entirety of the weekend. That’s what I did in high school!” 

“That sounds dreadful,” Hermann says.

“You’re dreadful.”

“You are a child.” 

Newt laughs again. Then asks tentatively, “Um, Hermann?”

“Yes?”

“Can we just, uh, pretend this didn’t happen?”

“Of course,” Hermann says instantly. If their positions were to be reversed, he is absolutely certain he’d want Newt to never mention it again. So he’s more than willing to do that in return. 

“Thanks,” Newt says, the relief obvious. “Um, I’m way calmer now, so, um…”

“If you still want to talk, that’s okay,” Hermann says. He suspects from Newt’s tone he was secretly hoping Hermann would say that. “I probably won’t fall back asleep for a while still.” 

Newt swallows loudly enough for Hermann to hear it through the phone. “I don’t need to vent anymore, I’m just worried that, um, worried I’ll start to feel all emotional or whatever again. I just kind of want to talk about unrelated stuff.”

“Okay,” Hermann says sleepily. 

“You don’t even have to-”

“Tell me about whatever daft biology things you were studying at university.” 

“It is not ‘daft,’ okay, you stuck up, British prick-” and just like that, as Hermann had rather suspected, Newt is off, going on about things that Hermann is far too asleep to properly absorb. Fortunately, Newt doesn’t seem to mind that Hermann’s replies are mostly “hmm” and “uh-huh.” He lies down all the way, curling up on his good side, holding his phone loosely to his head, and listens more to the cadence of Newt’s shrill, enthusiastic voice than to the words he’s saying. Newt’s voice is ridiculous and irritating and rather soothing. And with his eyes closed, he can pretend he isn’t hearing Newt’s voice through the phone, but rather that Newt is in the same room as him. The earlier image of Newt crying on his bed drifts into Hermann’s mind, and he worries about it some more. He was definitely crying. Were there tears on his face? Are they still there? He doesn’t want Newt to cry, he doesn’t like it. Newt seems such a vibrant, energetic person, more like a force of nature, a whirlwind or a wild fire, than a boy the same age as Hermann, he seems to blaze with a hot inner light, and smiles and laughter seem more natural on him than tears do. Perhaps if he’d been loud and angry the whole way through that would be more suitable, crying might not be unexpected then, Newt seems like a person to be overtaken by his emotions, but quietly crying seems terribly wrong. Hermann doesn’t like it. It leaves him feeling unsettled, like when he would swear he’s done a proof right but still comes out with the wrong answer, and he knows something is wrong but he can’t find the source and he can’t fix it. He wants to fix it. He wants to fix what is wrong and make Newt stop crying. 

And he thinks, again, about how he might comfort Newt if he really were there with him, listening to him ramble about DNA or whatever it is he’s on about now. Being able to embrace him, put his arms around Newt’s warm, soft body. The image is very vivid, as if Newt is right next to him on the bed, like Hermann could reach out and touch him, whisper comforting words, he’s not exactly sure what, but whatever it is, it’s the exact right thing to say. He wipes away Newt’s tears. Cups his face. Kisses his wet cheeks, kisses away the tears, then moves to his mouth, and Newt willingly parts his lips and lets Hermann lick his way into his mouth. It’s all soft, gentle kissing at first, but it moves into something a little more urgent, pressing close together, Newt’s hands clutching at his shoulders. Newt moans, a low, rough sound, and he says, “ _Hermann_ ,” and then the hands on his shoulders are pushing, shoving him down onto the bed.

Newt kneels over him and kisses his mouth and his jaw and his neck and shoves his hands up Hermann’s shirt, runs over his stomach and his chest, keeps saying Hermann’s name, smiles at him wickedly in between kisses, and Hermann can scarcely breathe. It’s good he’s smiling again. He has a lovely smile. He wants to take off Newt’s shirt too and then it’s gone. The freckles are splattered all over his pale gold skin, and Hermann wants to touch every freckle, kiss them all individually, touch the soft gold hair, Newt is beautiful.

Newt is kissing his chest now and Hermann can hear his own voice saying, “ _Newt, oh, Newt, I want, I want you-_ ” 

And Newt’s hand runs down his stomach, down and down and then-

His alarm clock goes off very loudly next to his head. Hermann wakes up hard and fast, eyes flying open with a surprised gasp. He fumbles for his phone with hands still clumsy with sleep. It’s not where it should be, it’s on the pillow right next to his face instead of on the edge of his bed. He can’t resist checking to make sure it was really his alarm and not a phone call - it’s not, but there’s a text from Newt reading _I think u fell asleep as I was talkin haha_ \- turns off the alarm, and then sits up and stares around his room with wide eyes. 

There are a few strange moments where he cannot untangle dream from reality. Did Newt really call him last night? And. What happened after that. Can’t have been real, he was in his bedroom all last night and Newt was presumably in his. He must have drifted off and started dreaming about...about that...He _dreamed_ that. 

He gets out of bed so quickly that he wobbles on his feet, and then he goes fast to the bathroom and takes a shower. He thinks about homework in the shower, he thinks about upcoming finals, he recites things he needs to know for school, and every now and then a flash of the dream breaks in and he loses track of his train of thought and has to urgently start all over again. 

It’s a longer shower than he normally takes, but at least when he gets out he feels as if he somewhat solidly back in reality. Enough so that he feels safe in checking his phone to see if Newt really called him last night. Which, indeed, he did. He reads the text again and goes sort of red. He fell asleep…? It’s not like he was talking even before he fell asleep, so how did Newt notice that, did he- what if he- made a weird sound or something- _God_ \- just shut up. 

The call definitely happened, that’s what matters. Newt called him last night, upset. He’s lost in worry about Newt again, for a moment, wondering if he’s still sad, which is a much safer place to be, far solider ground, even if it is worrying. He even thinks of texting Newt to check, but then the image of Newt in his bed that he was imagining last night flashes into his head again, and where that _lead_ , and he hurriedly puts his phone down.

How could he have dreamed something like that? Something so...And the things he remembers himself saying in that dream! 

It’s not like it’s his first...erotic dream. He’s a teenage boy with at least somewhat of a sex drive; he has has had erotic dreams. Particularly when he was a little younger, they mostly stopped after fourteen or so. But he’s never had one about a _real_ person before. The few he can remember are usually about- about certain fictional characters. Probably provoked by watching too much _Star Trek_ before bed. 

But that surely didn’t mean anything. He’d put it out of his head, because it surely didn’t mean anything. He had probably been thinking about _Star Trek_ , about - It doesn’t matter who, that character is the main character so of course he was thinking of that character - and those thoughts collided oddly with the erotic energy of the dream and lead to him having strange dreams that didn’t mean anything. Which is very much the same as this situation, right? He was thinking of Newt, and then he fell asleep, and he probably would have had a dream like that _anyway_ , but because he was thinking of Newt, it happened to include him. It doesn’t mean anything. 

Also doesn’t explain the multitude of emotions stirring sickly in his stomach. 

There’s guilt, for one thing, that he could have had a dream like that about Newt when Newt was upset. The guilt makes sense, and is at least incrementally relieved by knowing that A, he didn’t do it on purpose, and B, Newt never has to know. But as for everything else...it’s nearly as bad as the night of Tendo’s party, when he came home so overwhelmed that he burst into tears. God, that feels like a long time ago now. He didn’t even know Newt then. 

Also, god, that is not a good thing to compare to the present situation, those are completely different things. Reacting to a kiss and reacting to a dream are different things, namely in that one is real, and the other is not. And _this_ is not something that needs explaining, because he has already explained it, and it doesn’t mean a bloody thing, and he is going to stop thinking about it and go to school now. 

The only good thing about dreams is the way that they fade in one’s memory. He can’t possibly forget that he had a dream like that, but a day of focusing on schoolwork does a good deal to banishing the specific details of the dream, and when it is less vivid in his mind, it is also less powerful. Telling himself it’s just a dream starts to feel truer. 

Just a dream. Nothing to worry about. Far better of an idea to worry about Newt himself, who sounded so very sad in that phone call. When he gets home from school, he contemplates texting him to ask him if he feels any better, but decides against it; Newt sounded much better by the end of the call, and after all, he did promise to pretend like it never happened. If their roles were to be reversed, he wouldn’t want Newt to be worrying about him and texting him about it, he’d just want to erase the whole thing from memory. 

If their roles were reversed, would Newt have a dream like Hermann had?

 _Shut up_ , he tells himself passionately, and takes out his too easy math homework and purposely does it the hardest way possible so that he forgets to think about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Kelsey for helping me figure out how to plot some aspects of this chapter and for this gem of a quote about Hermann:
> 
> “i love that hes had fucking sex dreams about kirk before and is still like ah yes i am straight??? i am not a gay”


	8. Real World Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I call this the "Veronica takes shameless advantage of an opportunity to portray her absurdly extensive headcanons about characters only offhandedly referenced to in the movie and paracanon" chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This chapter starts cute but turns into angst and bullying. Be warned of further usage of homophobia and slurs and some minor physical violence.  
> 2\. Reminder that Alison is nonbinary. Their pronoun in this chapter is "they," but it might be "she" in other ones. Alison is a munitions officer according to the Pacific Rim Wiki, so I like to imagine they are fond of weapons and blowing things up and that in the canon-verse Alison and Hermann would become friends through talking about Jaegers and weapon capabilities and then would sit around drinking tea and talking about their troublesome boyfriends. So yes I'm pretty excited for the chance to write a fic in which their friendship is a significant part.  
> 3\. My conceptions of adult Hermann and teenager Hermann are obviously not the same, so if at times Hermann seems to behave in ways you would not expect him to, if he seems more vulnerable and self-conscious, I just wanted to assure you all I'm doing that on purpose. He'll grow up to be strong and grumpy and to not give a damn about the opinions of the majority of the world about his personality, he just isn't there yet. After all, who was at 17?
> 
> Sorry for all the notes, without further ado:

It’s two days later and about forty five minutes after the end of the school day when the doorbell rings. Hermann is actually studying, even though he probably doesn’t need to considering how well he’s been doing in his classes, because after all, finals are coming up, and his father will be unbearably disappointed if he gets anything less than perfect grades in his class. Which means it’s almost guaranteed his father will be disappointed in him, as even he cannot (always) be perfect, no matter how hard he tries; but he can at least do his best to minimize the disappointment. And maybe this will be the semester he does somehow live up to his father’s expectations, there’s always that possibility...Besides, one doesn’t like to be surprised on tests, and studying makes that less likely. 

The doorbell ringing startles him. It doesn’t ring often. They don’t have guests very much. He always forgets how loud it is. But Bastien is home for once, and Hermann nearly immediately hears the sound of his footsteps out in the hall, so he shrugs and leaves it to him. It’s probably just someone selling things or intending to ask them questions about their religion or politics or so on, and Bastien is so much better with that sort of thing. He actually likes talking to people, god only knows why, and they seem to like him back. Probably because he smiles angelically at them and politely informs them that no, they don’t want to buy anything, no, his father is not home; unlike Hermann, who inevitably finds himself glaring and answering everything as briefly as he can without being _too_ rude. Much better to let Bas deal with strangers at the door, so he bends his head back over his textbook.

He can distantly hears the sound of Bas greeting whoever it is, and then a pause, probably the other person speaking, they must be too far for Hermann to hear them, and then Bas saying something, and then the sound of him walking again. 

Hermann frowns. Bas didn’t shut the front door. That’s a little odd. And the sound of his steps is heading straight toward Hermann’s door. 

“Hermann?”

He makes a frustrated sound. Why is he being involved in this? “What?” he snaps.

Bas always speaks in English when Dad isn’t around. “A friend of yours is at the door!” 

“What?” Hermann repeats blankly, head jerking up. He stands a moment later and crosses to his bedroom door, flinging it open to look at his brother on the other side, staring up at him with his wide, innocent blue eyes. “Who?” he demands. 

Bas shrugs. “It’s not Tendo,” he says. 

Hermann rolls his eyes and complains, “That’s not very helpful.”It’s not like Tendo is his _only_ friend...There’s Alison too. Probably. He slides past his brother - shorter than him, and he’d better stay that way and not turn out tall like Dietrich - to go to the front door, Bas trailing after him. 

The front door was left standing open, and- It’s Newt. In the entranceway now, a grocery bag in one hand, smiling uncertainly. “Hi, Herms,” he says, seeing Hermann. “Is this a bad time?”

“He called you ‘Herms,’” Bas says in an astonished voice.

“What are you doing here?” Hermann says in an equally astonished voice. 

“Uh- I just wanted to drop by and give you something, maybe hang out for a little if you had some time- Is this your brother?”

“I’m Bastien,” he pipes up. “Who are you? I didn’t know Hermann had any friends other than Tendo-” 

Hermann would like very much to tell Bastien to shut up and go away, and if it were Karla or Dietrich he would, but it is always somehow so difficult to be mean to Bastien. He always looks so surprised and hurt by it, as if he didn’t know that Hermann was a not very nice person. He is mean to him sometimes - he’s mean to everyone, eventually, and besides, older siblings are supposed to be mean once in a while - but usually only when he loses his temper.

So instead he hastily says “Yes, that’s my brother, yes of course I have friends other than Tendo, his name is Newton, now let’s go outside on the porch,” and hastily drags Newt back out the front door and shuts it in Bastien’s innocently curious face. 

Newt looks amused. “He’s adorable.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Hermann says. Everyone thinks Bastien is adorable. It is really an objective fact. He’s small for his age - thirteen - and has the fair coloring of Lars and Dietrich, but instead of the pale blue eyes and ashy blonde hair (or silver, in Lars’s case, but it used to be blonde) of those two, he has golden curls and wide, sky blue eyes. Altogether he looks positively angelic, like something out of a painting, with a personality to match. He’s clever, all of the Gottliebs are clever, but where the older three Gottlieb children are sarcastic and cynical and emotionally repressed, Bastien is sweet and kind and optimistic. Hermann would doubt he’s even related to the rest of them if it weren’t for the fact that he does distinctly look like their father did at his age in the one or two rare pictures of his childhood Hermann has seen. Bastien is undoubtedly the best of the lot of them, and everyone always adores him, and Hermann and his older siblings all quietly agree that’s really how it should be. Wanting to protect Bas is probably the _only_ thing Hermann and Karla and Dietrich agree on.

So there’s no need for Newt to start smiling and coo “Aww,” when Hermann says that he is adorable. It’s just a fact. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t annoy the hell out of Hermann at times. He’s always telling Hermann he ought to be friendlier and talk to people more and asking him why he doesn’t have more friends or, worst of all, why he doesn’t have a _girlfriend_ , the last of which is usually enough to provoke Hermann into snapping at him. (His favorite is “Children should be seen and not heard,” which invariably makes Bastien so mad that he is entirely distracted from the original question.)

“Why are you here?” Hermann says again. 

The porch is a cement slab raised a step’s height from the ground, and Newt walks to the edge and sits on the step, setting the shopping bag on his lap and withdrawing from it two ice cream bars wrapped in paper, like something one could get from a gas station. He holds one out to Hermann. “I wanted to thank you for the other night. I figured we could share if you’ve got the time, and if you don’t, I’ll just give you them both and bail.” 

Hermann notices now that there’s a bike that wasn’t there before leaning up against the porch. He supposes that Newt’s house _is_ just within biking distance, for someone in decent physical shape. And Newt is a bit flushed and sweaty and- and that’s kind of interesting. Hermann looks away, as if studying the house across the street, and says loftily, “I suppose I can take a break from studying.” He sits down next to Newt. “I thought we were pretending the other night didn’t happen?”

“So what’s it like having so many siblings?” Newt asks loudly. Clearly ignoring the question. Hermann nods to himself, perfectly willing to accept that. Newt hands him an ice cream bar and rips open his own. It’s one of those of the kind that is a waffle cone and ice cream covered in chocolate and nuts. A drumstick, Hermann thinks they are called, although he really does not know why.

“I don’t know,” Hermann says. “What’s it like _not_ having siblings?”

“Oh. Um. I...dunno. Okay, I get your point.”

Hermann takes a bite of his ice cream. He doesn’t have sweets very often. His father doesn’t really care for that sort of thing. It is for children, after all. But Hermann does kind of like chocolate. And ice cream. Sometimes. 

“Okay, but what are your siblings like?” is Newt’s next question. 

Hermann licks at the ice cream as he thinks. “Um...Dietrich is my oldest brother, he’s a senior in college, he’s a computer science major. He’s probably ‘the good one,’ as people say.”

Newt laughs at that, unexpectedly. “Wait, _you’re_ not ‘the good one?’ How is that possible?”

“I’m not at all ‘the good one,’” Hermann says, rather surprised. “Dietrich always does what my father expects of him, he’s responsible and he gets good grades and he did lots of clubs in high school, he was on student council _and_ on the track team-” An individual sport, of course, teamwork is not his strongest point, is not the strongest point for any of them, “-and he got scholarships and is doing a sensible major and right now he has some impressive internship.” Hermann scowls. Dietrich is really annoying. He can be nice, particularly when Dad isn’t home, but when Dad is around he’s near unbearable. He does exactly what Dad wants and he’s always telling the rest of them that they should too, and he tries to be just like Dad, acting so cold and superior even though really he’s much- He’s not like that. And he always acts so much older and more knowledgeable and treats Hermann like a child and calls him “Herms.” Plus it is just generally really annoying to have such a perfect brother, he and Karla are always being told they should be more like Dietrich. 

“Jeez, is everyone in your family an overachiever?” Newt says. 

Hermann does not appreciate being put in the same category as Dietrich. “No,” he snaps. 

“Okay, okay,” Newt says, not looking as if he particularly believes Hermann or is put off by his tone. “What’s your sister like then? She’s in college too, right?”

“She’s pretty much the opposite of Dietrich.”

“‘The bad one’ then?” Newt says, grinning.

It’s probably a joke but actually- “Essentially,” Hermann says with a shrug. “In my Dad’s opinion at least. She’s rather...rebellious. She’s smart but she didn’t get as good of grades as she could have in high school, she fought with Dad a lot, she did silly things just to annoy him like smoking or staying out late or dating boys he didn’t approve of. And then he wanted her to go to a proper university and she wanted to go to art school and they fought about it...a lot. He only let her go because she got a scholarship.”

“Wow,” Newt says slowly. “That’s...Um. Yeah. Art school though, that’s pretty cool, does she like it?”

“I think so,” Hermann says vaguely. He doesn’t see her much these days. She refuses to come home. Her semester is over now but she still isn’t coming home. Sometimes she’ll come pick him and/or Bas up and they’ll spend time with her at school, and sometimes he can get her to give him rides - she can drive and has a very small, old car - if he misses the bus from school or needs to go somewhere and doesn’t have any other way to get there. But even then it seems like, somehow, they don’t talk very much. She always seems so busy, she’ll give him rides but be talking to someone on the phone (even though he’s told her how dangerous that is to do while driving) or she’ll talk to him but be kind of distracted and flit from topic to topic. She seems happy though, so he thinks she’s okay. And that’s...that’s perfectly fine. Karla is the one he’s closest to in his family, the one that he talks (talked) to the most, so he’s glad that she got out the way that she wanted to, he’s glad she’s happy. Even if it does mean he doesn’t get to see her anymore. And is left alone with Dad (and Bastien).

At least Dietrich still comes home sometimes. 

“Anyway,” Hermann continues, resolute to not think about that. “You met Bastien. He’s in middle school, he’s...I don’t know. He gets good grades and he has friends and he likes soccer. Pretty ordinary, I think.” At least compared to the rest of them. 

“Okay, so if your older brother is ‘the good one’ and your sister is ‘the bad one,’ what is Bastien? And you, for that matter.”

Hermann doesn’t really have to think about this much. It’s pretty easy to tell what their father thinks on that count. “Bas is the favorite.”

Newt laughs and then says, “Oh, you’re serious.” 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Hermann says. “He’s the baby of the family, he’s the nicest of us all, I don’t think any of us mind that he’s Dad’s favorite.” Hermann is actually rather glad of it, actually. He wouldn’t want to see Dad fight with Bas the way that he fought with Karla or for him to be...the way he is with Hermann. 

“I think that’s kinda weird but I don’t know enough about big families to say if it is for certain.”

“I don’t know what it’s like in other families, but that is what ours is like.”

“Hm. Okay, but, you didn’t say which ‘one’ you are.”

Hermann’s first instinct is to say, _I’m ‘the disappointing one_.’ He’s pretty sure that’s the truth. His father is always disappointed in him, always. He is usually pretty disappointed in Karla too, but that’s not the same. She’s trying to disappoint him, it’s part of the whole rebellious thing, they don’t get along so she actively tries to do the opposite of whatever he expects of her. But Hermann, he tries, he really always tries his hardest, but his father is always saying, _I expected more from you, Hermann_. It’s very rare that he reaches that “more” that his father expects, and therefore, he’s always disappointed. Hermann doesn’t know why. Dietrich didn’t take as hard of classes as Hermann and didn’t get quite as good grades, but he is the good one and Hermann is the disappointment. It must be...something intrinsic, some basic part of their personality that makes their father satisfied with Dietrich and displeased with Hermann. Like he knows somehow that Hermann isn’t doing his best, even though he feels like he really is doing his best. Maybe...maybe he really could try harder, that is what he’s always thinking, maybe if he just tries a little harder to be better and to get rid of the bad parts of himself- or to hide the bad, shameful parts he can’t get rid of- then maybe-

He can’t say any of that to Newt because it is far too pathetic and self-pitying and Newt certainly doesn’t want to hear his pitiful ramblings, so he says, “I don’t know, ‘the quiet one,’ maybe?” and takes a big bite of the ice cream in the hopes of giving himself brain freeze and stopping all his thoughts. Or at the very least, being distracted and/or cheered up by the sweet.

“Psh, no way I can think of you as ‘the quiet one’ after the way you’ve gone at me before,” Newt says with a snort. 

Hermann swallows hastily so that he snap indignantly, “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?” 

“What, c’mon, the way you’ve ranted at me and shouted at me you can’t- Dude, oh my god-” He cuts himself off to burst out laughing. 

“ _What_ -”

“You have a huge chunk of ice cream on your face, here-” he says, tapping his own chin.

“Oh,” Hermann says, blushing, and swipes at his chin. “Did I get it?”

“Not at all,” Newt giggles, before suddenly sobering up and getting a mischievous look in his eyes. “Here, I’ll get it-” he says. He leans in very close and puts his mouth just to the corner of Hermann’s and he. Licks. Him. 

Hermann’s core body temperature, so far as he can tell, doubles in an instant. 

“Newton!” he squeaks. 

Newt moves his mouth to Hermann’s so it turns into a quick kiss, then sits back and grins at him, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I think I got it.” 

Hermann thinks that not just his face but his entire body has gone red. He looks around a little wildly to see if anyone is looking, particularly checking the front window of his house. If Bastien saw, he will literally die. Possibly of spontaneous combustion. Fortunately, the window is empty. His little brother’s innocence will not be shattered just yet. “We’re outside!” he hisses, his voice still sort of high and odd. 

“I noticed,” Newt says. “I’m very observant, you know. For instance, I can observe that you have gone an incredible shade of scarlet. It’s very flattering on you, Herms.” 

“You’re unbelievable!” 

“See, that’s what I mean when I say that you aren’t quiet. Ohh, c’mon, no one saw, don’t be like that. I won’t do it again if it upsets you, okay?” 

He’s not sure _upsets_ is the right word. Astonishes. Flusters. Those might be better fits. Makes-his- stomach-sort-of-swoop-in-a-way-that-not-necessarily-unpleasant. 

“You’re really unbelievable,” he grumbles, focusing stubbornly on his now almost gone ice cream cone. 

“Are you mad?” Newt asks contritely. “I’m sorry if that was too far.”

“I’m not mad,” Hermann says. “It-” 

Newt always does things that surprise him. Hermann doesn’t really care for surprises. He doesn’t know how to react, and he hates not knowing what to do, and so then he always reacts in unexpected ways, and he doesn’t know what to make of his reactions. Someone licking his face, he would have said that was disgusting just a day ago, but his reaction- Was that disgust? He doesn’t think it was disgust. 

That’s the thing, Newt always does things that surprise him, and then he reacts in unexpected ways, but the reactions, when he attempts to replicate them or when he thinks back on them, mostly seem to be...positive. 

That means something. It has to mean something. He’s attracted to Newt, he can’t deny that, and that has to mean something, but when he thinks about what it means, he feels something coiled and hard in his stomach and his lungs go tight and his mind dissolves into white static, into something like- It’s like he’s standing on the edge of the cliff and if he looks down he’ll see the vast depths below him. If he looks he will fall. And he’s terrified to look down. There is no going back once he looks down, once he falls, once he knows. There will be unknowing. He has to look eventually - doesn’t he? - but he just cannot do it yet. Maybe he already knows what’s there, what it means, but he can’t look. 

“Herma-”

“It was just unexpected,” he says loudly. “It was rude of you, doing it so unexpectedly. Unfair.” 

“Unfair?” Newt echoes incredulously. 

“Yes, you ought to give a person a bit of warning.” 

“Really, Hermann? Warning? What sort of warning do you want, should I formally announce it, ‘hello, this is just me letting you know I am going to lick your face now,’ would that good enough for you?”

Something about Newt saying _lick your face_ entirely derails his train of thought and he sputters incoherently, “N-no, I’m just saying- I-it’s polite-”

“Where’s the fun in being polite all the time, that’s what I wanna know, don’t you want some spontaneity, isn’t it a little exciting to have a tiny bit of randomness every now and then, a kiss just for the sake of it? I’m not condoning just kissing random people or whatever but if there’s an established pattern of kissing then what is wrong with just, you know, kissing a person unexpectedly every now and then, hmm, what is this tyranny that I can’t do that without being rude?”

This is a ridiculous thing to be arguing about, he is aware of that, but he carries on saying, “Oh, so if you had your way, people would just-” and somehow to demonstrate his point it seems most fitting to just lean in and kiss him hard. 

Apparently if Newt had his way people _would_ just do that, because he reacts enthusiastically. He tastes sugary, chocolate and vanilla, which Hermann thinks he ought to find disgusting, but he doesn’t really, and kissing in general is something he still thinks ought to be awful but it just isn’t. Isn’t he learning a lot these days. 

“Yeah,” Newt says - a little breathless, and Hermann is oddly proud of that - when he pulls away. “I do think that’s a pretty good way to do things. What d’you think?”

“I suppose it has some benefits,” Hermann says airily. 

“Aw, you liked it, you know you liked it,” Newt teases. 

Hermann _hmph_ s and takes another big bite of his ice cream - there’s only about one more bite left- and looks away and. 

There’s someone there. Standing at the end of the street, which is about four houses away. So. Close enough to see perfectly. Close enough to see Newt and Hermann. Close enough for Hermann to see him. To recognize him. 

It’d be bad enough if it was just anyone from school, but of course it has to be the worst possible person. Of course it’s Tim Laird. 

And it’s bloody obvious he’s seen them, he’s _staring_ and there’s this expression on his face- This absolute disgust- There’s rage too, and shock, but the disgust is the thing that sears itself on Hermann’s mind. 

It feels like someone hit him in the chest, he gasps in silently and his lungs seem to flatten so that he can’t breathe in again. He and Laird just stare at each other. Newt is talking behind him, chattering away unconcerned, he must not have seen, and Hermann is suddenly desperate that he doesn’t. These are parts of his life that aren’t supposed to touch. School and Laird and all the awful things there, those are supposed to be unconnected from Newt. He can’t stop Laird from seeing Newt now, from seeing what just happened, but he can stop Newt from seeing him, and he can stop Laird from walking over here now - as he rather looks like he might do, the rage on his face is only growing - and saying the awful things he says. It’s one thing when he says those things to Hermann but for him to say them to Newt is utterly unforgivable. 

And for Newt to know that those sorts of things happen to Hermann is somehow even more unbearable. 

“-Hermann?” he hears Newt say behind him. He must have noticed that Hermann froze. 

He jolts back into motion and somehow takes a breath, turns back to Newt and tries to look natural. “Let’s go inside.”

“What? Are you okay? You look kinda weird.”

“Y-yes, I’m fine, it’s just- a bit hot out here, let’s go inside.” 

He really must look odd because Newt frowns with concern and says, “Yeah, okay, let’s go inside.” 

He doesn’t let Newt leave until he’s sure that Laird isn’t there anymore. 

 

The next day the word “FAG” is drawn on his locker with sharpie. A black sharpie. The letters are all capitals and several inches tall, written across his locker at a slant. So that they could be written bigger, Hermann supposes numbly. His mind seems to have gone very cold and faraway so that he can calmly observe it all, see it in perfect detail. Whoever wrote it traced over the letters several times to make them darker, so that they are a messy but perfectly legible scrawl across his locker. He didn’t think people really did things like that outside of movies and books. And he’s rather impressed Laird got the word out so quickly. Or did he do it himself? It doesn’t quite seem his style. Too subtle; not that this is particularly subtle, but Laird is more physical, more of the kind to directly communicate his feelings to your face with harsh words and blows. That will come later.

It’s very important he does not outwardly react. People are watching him. He often worries people are watching him when he is in a public place, but right now he is absolutely certain it is not just his imagination. So it is very important he does not react, he cannot give them the satisfaction. 

He’s proud of himself. He only stares at the ugly word for a second or two - it feels like longer, but he knows it isn’t - and his hands don’t even shake as he enters his combination and opens his locker. The problem, really, comes after he gets it open. He stares in and he absolutely can’t remember what books he needs or if he’s supposed to put anything in here. He didn’t pack lunch today, he felt too sick with nerves about coming to school today to even think about food. So he doesn’t need to put that in his locker. But he really can’t think of what else he might need to do. 

He has to do something, and a slow wave of panic begins swelling up somewhere behind his eyes, threatening to crash over him at any second, and he has to do something or else someone will notice that he is just standing here and that will count as a reaction but he doesn’t know what to do and he can’t think. 

He’s staring so intently into his locker (despite not really seeing any of it) that he doesn’t notice Alison come up beside him until they are there beside him, saying his name in a way that made him suspect they had said it more than once.

He didn’t open his locker door all the way. If one opens it all the way, so that it touches the wall, then it blocks the next locker over, and he hates when people do that to him, so he never does it himself. Instinct, by now, after years of public schooling. It’s standing half open and Alison is leaning next to it and he knows they are going to see it even before their eyebrows shoot up and they say in an outraged hiss, “What the _hell_ is this?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, voice coming out fast and flat and harsh.

“How is this _nothing_ -” Alison begins, voice rising with fury. He’s never seen Alison properly angry before but Tendo has told him it’s rather terrifying. 

“Not here,” Hermann says in a low voice. He’s trying very hard to stay calm, to sound unaffected, but there’s a pleading quality in his voice that Alison obviously hears. 

Alison’s posture is something like an angry cat, shoulders stiff and raised, it’s rather surprising their bright red hair isn’t standing on end, but they bite out, “Yeah,” and “Come on, then.” They turn out wordlessly and storm off. To the library, he thinks, which is a good place, there are lots of quiet corners to sit and talk. 

He still hasn’t any idea what he needs for the day so he snatches some textbooks and notebooks out and shoves them into his bag and slams the ugly door shut. He keeps his eyes glued ahead of him, on Alison’s back as they stomp through the slowly growing crowd of students in the hallway. 

The library is not overly filled today, which is good; Alison raises their voice when angry and Hermann would prefer that no one hears this. Alison picks a corner half hidden behind bookshelves, a little nook with a few small sort of sofa things that are meant to encourage students reading or so on, but that Hermann thinks students mostly use to make out. There are probably all sorts of awful stains on the chairs. Alison does not sit down. Hermann does. Normally he prefers to be standing for conflict, but right now he needs to sit. 

He does not feel well today. The slight stomachache and the closed up throat, those are typical symptoms of stress, lately there is hardly a day that passes that he does not feel like that in the morning before he has to go to school, and obviously it was worse today, with the dread of what to expect after Laird seeing him yesterday; but he also feels unwell in other ways, he’s not sure if it’s stress or not. It probably is. He’s shaky and tired - he slept poorly last night - and his chest is tight and sort of painful and his head slightly achey and his leg is troubling him. He should have used his cane today, he knew this morning when he was getting ready that he should bring his cane, but he just couldn’t bear to. He always feels like people are staring at him when he uses his cane and he couldn’t stand to use it on a day when people were probably going to be staring anyway. 

He shouldn’t care about those things, he shouldn’t. Someday he won’t. He will be stronger and he will not care if others look at him or what they think of him when they look at him. He will use his cane when he needs to (which might be more often, he has been told it is possible he will need it more as he gets older) and he will not be ashamed or embarrassed. He won’t let people say hurtful things to him, he won’t let it hurt him, he will glare at anyone that so much as dares to treat him with disrespect because of his disability or because of any of the other thousands of ways in which he is different and strange and wrong. He will have a fuck-you attitude and he will know that other people’s opinions don’t count and he will keep his head high. He will. Someday he will. But he’s just- He’s just not _strong_ enough yet- He tries so hard to pretend that he doesn’t care, he tries so hard to not even think about it, but he’s not strong enough yet.

He wants so badly to be stronger than he is.

For just a second, his eyes prickle and his jaw aches, but godddamit, he has not cried in front of another human being since he was twelve years old - and even then it was his older sister so that doesn’t quite count - and he shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough that he sees spots of color and he takes a deep breath and holds it and holds it until his lungs ache and Alison says in a different sort of voice, “Hermann, are you okay?”

He exhales and it doesn’t shake or catch. He pulls his hands away from his eyes. “I’m fine.” 

“What is going on? Why was- _that_ written on your locker?”

He shrugs stiffly in an unconvincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know, some people being rude, I suppose.” 

“Yes, but- But why? Why would they say that?”

Alison going to ask him if it’s true and he doesn’t know what he’ll say. He doesn’t know. He’s not ready. 

“I- What does it matter, it’s just people being awful, it doesn’t matter-”

“Did something happen?” Alison asks sharply. Dammit. Alison is too bloody smart. Why couldn’t Tendo like someone less clever? 

He’s only halfway through denying it - lying to his friends, excellent, what an excellent day this is - when Alison interrupts to ask, “Is this about Newt?”

He’s caught completely off-guard, and perhaps that is why he reacts the way he does. Instead of being clever and playing it cool, he sort of gasps and gapes at them and says blankly, “What- How did you know- Did he tell you?”

Alison blinks at him. “Did who tell me what? I just meant, the whole thing at the party- Wait, do you mean something else, wait, d’you mean Newt? Have you- What?”

Shit. 

“Ah-”

“Don’t you lie to me,” they growl, sticking an accusatory finger in his face. “You said you never called him!” 

He swallows weakly. He has the vague feeling that all of this is getting out of control. Family, friends, the awful Laird/Cara thing, Newt, those four things were all supposed to stay entirely separate, as if he could keep it under control if he kept them apart, but now Laird knows about Newt, Alison knows about Laird (sort of), and they are probably about to know about Newt because he isn’t really seeing how to lie his way out of this. 

“I, er, lied about that,” he says. 

Alison throws their hands up and exclaims, voice high with frustration, “Why the fuck would you lie about that? Tendo and I wanted you to call him? That’s great you did, except you lied, which is not great, why would you lie, and how does that connect to this?”

“Someone...saw me,” he says. He has to force the words out. This is terrible. This conversation is going even worse than he expected. “With him. They made certain assumptions from there. And I didn’t tell you and Tendo because, I, I didn’t know what to say, it’s not-” They wanted him to call Newt and he hadn’t known why exactly but he has suspicions and it’s not like _that_ , “-It’s all just f-fucking confusing and I don’t know what to say, Alison, it’s none of your business anyway and I don’t know what to say!” 

He’s angry by the end of it. He hates this. 

He hates words and feelings and trying to explain your feelings to yourself and to others and trying to understand others’ feelings. He hates the inevitable misunderstandings and miscommunications. He hates when people do understand because that is somehow worse. He hates being judged and looked down upon and pitied and despised. He hates messing up and disappointing people and angering them and disgusting them. He hates being hurt. He hates always always being hurt. 

It’s all so imprecise, human beings are so imprecise and messy and chaotic and wild and hurtful and ugly. Feelings are unpredictable and incomprehensible and painful. Words are even worse, words are a clumsy medium to attempt to convey things that are sometimes inexplicable. He never uses them right and people despise him for it. And all of it, people and feelings and words, it always leads to being hurt, to feeling like this, the unbearable crush of confusion and misery and guilt and shame and why, why would someone write that on his locker.

Numbers, maths, physics, it’s beautiful and vast and predictable and safe. There are parts that aren’t understood yet, but they have answers, if one just looks, pays attention, decodes the hidden patterns, then the answers will be there. Everything happens as it should. The stars travel in a predictable path, a carefully choreographed dance through space, everything in its place, and light travels at a constant speed, what goes up comes down, and math is the trick to all of it, the secret code to understanding the universe, and everything happens as it should. No mess and misunderstanding and pain. He doesn’t want to interact with people, he wants to hide in his beautiful numbers and understand all the wonderful hidden things and never be hurt again. If people were easy to understand like numbers, that would be one thing, but they are not. There’s no basic equation to understanding human behavior. So it’s better to keep them away, to stay in space and maths. Why would anyone want to study anything else, why would anyone want to be a _biologist_ , when life is such a dangerous, messy thing?

Alison is staring at him. He glares back defiantly. 

Alison lets out a slow breath. “Are we friends?”

He blinks. “What?”

“I’d like to think we’re friends,” Alison says softly. “Are we?”

“I-” It feels sort of like a trick question. Like, if he says yes, Alison will scoff and say _Don’t be ridiculous, no we aren’t, I was joking_. But- He doesn’t think they are like that. Alison is fearsome and sarcastic and hot tempered but he has never seen them be cruel to anyone. He swallows and says, “I would...also like to think we are friends.”

“Then I want to understand this, and I want you to explain to me, and I want to help you, but I...don’t want to force you to do any of that. I just wanna talk to you, Hermann, okay, we’re friends and that is what friends do, right? And if you’re confused or whatever, maybe I can help.”

His eyes unexpectedly prickle again. He doesn’t understand people, he really really does not. Alison was angry, and so he snapped at them, and then they were not angry, were kind instead. That makes no sense. Instead of answering, he doesn’t quite meet their eyes and says, “I don’t need help.”

“Maybe you don’t, but maybe I can at least you give advice, or blow up whoever it is that is harassing you like this. Neither of us will know unless you talk to me.” 

He sighs. “Passing time is almost over,” he points out.

“Oh. Really? Shit. You’re right. Um- At lunch? Or after school? If you’re agreeing to talk, that is?” 

He taps his fingers on his lap five times. “After school would be better.” There’s no way in hell he is stepping foot in the cafeteria today, and it doesn’t really seem fair to ask Alison to skip lunch. 

Their face creases into a smile. “Great! And my mom can give you a ride home if you miss the bus.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No prob. So. Um. See you then?”

He nods, feeling sort of tired at the mere thought, and hauls himself to his feet. It really is almost time for class. 

They walk out of the library together, but part ways from there, and Hermann only gets a handful of meters away before someone trips him and sends him crashing to the floor hard. 

 

 

He and Alison meet in the same place he sat the very first time he talked on the phone to Newt: a small space formed by the strange architecture of the school building, large enough to hold a picnic table, and enclosed on three out of four sides with only a relatively narrow space left open as entrance. Sometimes there are kids sitting here chatting or smoking or making out, but as it isn’t a very large space, it’s more often left abandoned. 

“Okay,” Alison says, dropping to sit on a bench and propping their chin on their hand to peer keenly into his face. “Let’s start with Newt. You called him. Care to tell me why?”

He sighs. He’s fairly sure that any explanation of his and Newt’s “experiment” is going to sound sort of...absurd. But he does his best to keep his tone clinical and disinterested and as if this whole thing is _perfectly_ normal. “After Tendo’s birthday party, you know, I was a bit. Confused.”

“By him kissing you?”

He frowns and says, “Yes,” flatly.

“Why?”

“I…” This is always where he gets lost himself. He doesn't know why, that’s what he wants to know. 

“Hermann?”

He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t understand it on his own. Alison is his friend. Alison is definitely not straight. Alison probably won’t make fun of him.

He folds his hands on the table and says carefully, feeling enormously embarrassed and stupid, “If, say, a person who had considered themselves heterosexual found that they, ah, had a positive reaction to kissing someone of the same gender, then...what does that mean exactly?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Alison says. There’s something thick and sort of painful clotting in Hermann’s chest and throat. He thinks it might be shame. “That is confusing,” Alison says gently, and the shame only grows. 

Alison leans back on the bench and says, “I don’t wanna, like, frame myself as being an expert or whatever, you know? But, um, if you are asking for advice...I mean, for one thing, you- or, uh, that is, ‘a person’ whom this happened to, could totally still be heterosexual, with an exception or whatever for this single person. Or even it could just be that they like kissing and would have a positive reaction to anyone that kissed them, or, well, not anyone, but so long as it happened under the right circumstances or so on. Or, if ‘this person’ is usually attracted to people of other genders but is sometimes attracted to people of the same gender, then they might be bi or pan or, uh, there is another one called poly? There’s lots of sexualities, you know, and like I said, I’m not an expert. But it isn’t always an even division, you know, a person can be attracted to one gender more than another and still count as bi or pan or so on. Or. Um. You know. If a person finds themself attracted to a person of the same gender and hasn’t ever really been attracted to other genders, then they might be gay. Or, I don’t know, something else entirely, maybe something without a word, there aren’t always labels, you know, there doesn’t always need to be.”

It’s not really helpful. It’s not so very different from what he had been thinking himself. He supposes it is nice to have confirmed that it could mean lots of different things, but there had perhaps been a tiny pathetic part of himself wishing Alison would reassure him it didn’t mean anything at all. But of course not. 

“I see,” he says.

“Can I ask...are you talking about Newt?” 

It’s hard to talk through the shame. He sounds brittle and irritated when he says, “Yes.” 

“But that’s great!” Alison says eagerly. “I mean, I get if you are kinda confused about it, but you didn’t need to hide it, Newt is a huge dork and you two would be adora-”

“It’s not like that,” Hermann interrupts, face burning. “That’s why I didn’t say anything. We aren’t….d-dating or something like that.”

They raise their eyebrows. “No?”

“I am simply trying to better understand my reactions to him,” Hermann snaps. “We sometimes spend a little bit of time together and talk and...kiss and so on, that’s it.”

“Sounds a bit like dating to me,” Alison mutters. 

“Well, it’s not!” he says fiercely. “I’m- And he’s- And I doubt he’s interested in me like that _anyway_!”

Alison smirks. “D’you want him to be?”

“What! No! Shut up, stop looking at me like that!” 

They laugh. “You’re precious.” 

“I am going to leave if you’re just going to make fun of me!” Hermann says, a genuine edge of hurt starting up somewhere in the back of his mind. It isn’t funny. None of this is funny. It’s confusing and awful and, and Newt really _wouldn’t_ be interested in him like that and he never thought of that before and he never thought of whether he would want him to be and it sort of hurts. 

“No, wait, I’m not done with you!” Alison says. Hermann, half risen up, reluctantly sinks back down. “Sorry, sorry, I won’t make fun of anymore, that was mean. And also it was only half of it. What about...your locker?”

Oh. 

“I told you, I was...with Newton a few days ago and someone saw me, and. It’s just some people being rude, it doesn’t matter.”

He got tripped today and several people said rude things to him, the standout being the girl who stopped him in the hall to tell him he was going to hell, and in one of his classes the teacher told them to split into partners and not only would no one would be his partner, no one would even talk to him. He was just grateful the teacher let him work alone, and he would have wanted to work alone anyway, he hates partner work, but...the other students didn’t even want to look at him. Like he was a spider, something gross and pesky and unwanted like that. But it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care. (Someday he really won’t care.)

“That’s- That’s horrible!” Alison says furiously. “Fucking- I hate people at this school! Listen, d’you know who it is, because I could probably destroy their car if they’ve got one or I could pick the lock on their locker and rig a firecracker to go off when they open the door. Not anything to hurt them or whatever, but it would be loud and embarrassing and hopefully would get them in trouble for playing with fireworks. I’m sure I could arrange the scene to be incriminating, I watch lots of cop shows. And this isn’t just idle threats, you know I could do this.”

Alison absolutely could. So far as he can tell, Alison is a bit of a blossoming pyromaniac. They told Hermann they dye their hair red to be like fire. Shortly before they started dating, Tendo hung out with Alison at their house, and according to Tendo, they spent the whole time lighting fireworks and blowing things up. For fun. He said Alison’s smile when something blew up was, quote, adorable, end quote. Alison is also somewhat renowned for building small projectile weapons out of paper clips and rubber bands and remnants of pens. They took a shop class last year and had far and away the highest score - much to the indignation of several of the boys in the class - and are currently taking AP Chemistry with Hansen, a class in which they apparently terrify and impress the other students in equal measure, and cause things to burst into fire more often than seems probable. Alison is not someone to screw with. 

It’s a rather tempting offer. Hermann spent the whole day doing his best to avoid Laird and Cara, and the thought of one or both of those two opening their locker only to find a firework waiting is...It’s really tempting. Probably morally wrong, though, and besides, Hermann has no doubt it would somehow be blamed on him.

“No,” he sighs. “It’s fine. Thanks for offering, though.” 

“I hate people like that,” Alison says passionately, red rising on their cheeks. “It’s not- I mean, what fucking business is it of theirs? I hate it! Bastards!”

Hermann doesn’t think most people know that Alison is non-binary. He didn’t even himself know that was a gender identity that existed until Tendo told him about it (with permission from Alison). He swallows and feels rather guilty. Here he is worrying about this, when it might not even mean anything, when Alison has to deal with all of that...and doesn’t even really have the option to be honest about it, not if they don’t want to go through something similar to what he is going through. Or possibly worse. 

“They are that,” he agrees neutrally. “But I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Are you fine, though?” Alison says, softening. “We've been a little worried about you, lately. I mean...I think this is the most you’ve talked to either Tendo or I in weeks. You never come to lunch anymore. It feels kinda like you are avoiding us. And you just look sorta...stressed out, maybe. Sad. You’re dealing with a lot, it seems like, are you okay?” 

“I’m not-” Damn, they noticed. They...cared? “I’ve just been studying a lot and, and trying to figure out Newton, and, you know, I figured I’d just be...a ‘third wheel’ with you two, seeing as you only just started dating, that’s all-”

“A third wheel? No, shit, we didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome-”

“No, no,” he says hastily, not wanting to make them feel guilty. He was the one who chose to stay away. It was just. Easier. “I didn’t mean that, it’s- It’s so annoying to be around a new couple, you know, always flirting and kissing and so on. Horrible.”

They roll their eyes and he feels as if he dodged a bullet. 

“That’s all. I’m perfectly fine, really.”

Alison narrows their eyes at him suspiciously. “If you say so,” they say reluctantly. “But you can always ask for help from me or Tendo, you know.” 

He bites his lip. “There is one thing.”

“Yeah?”

He drums his fingers on the table. “I know this isn’t very fair to ask, but. Just while I’m figuring this out. Can you please...not tell Tendo? About any of this. I’m not asking you to _lie_ , just don’t mention it, he’ll- He’s such a busybody, you know he is, he’ll try to interfere and-” He’ll make the wrong assumptions and he’ll say things to Newt and to Hermann and he can’t keep his mouth shut (and what if he says something to the wrong person? To Cara?) 

Alison is clearly displeased by this, enough so that Hermann finds himself wondering if he’ll be the one finding himself with a firecracker in his locker tomorrow, but they say, “Only because it’s not my secret to tell, that’s the only reason. But you should tell him.”

“I know.” 

“I mean, are you angry with him or something, you guys hardly talk anymore-”

“No, I’m not, I just-” He thinks of Tendo sitting at the same table as Cara. And Tendo in general surrounded by lots of friends. People that would never look twice at Hermann or would sneer at him. Tendo in the past year asking him to come to parties and school dances and football games and all those horrid crowded places Hermann hates, and getting a little annoyed when Hermann refused. “People drift apart, you know. They become...different people. That’s all. It’s perfectly natural.”

“I think he still wants to be friends.”

“Tendo wants to be friends with everyone,” Hermann mutters. “And I’m not saying we aren’t friends. Just not as close as before. It’s fine.” 

“You say that a lot.”

“What?”

“‘I’m fine.’ ‘It’s fine.’ You say it a lot.”

“It is,” he says defiantly.

“If you say so,” Alison repeats.

“I do.” It’s true. He’s fine. He can deal with all of this. He can.


	9. Acquiring Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann reaches a very shocking, unexpected conclusion that I am sure absolutely no one saw coming, no one at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, please be warned of: some mild descriptions of violence, mentions of victim blaming, a passing reference to parental abuse, and low self esteem. 
> 
> Lars's attitude is partially inspired by a geniusbee drawing that I can't find because I have 200+ pages tagged with #hermann gottlieb on my blog (and honestly, listing all the times and ways I have been inspired by geniusbee comics would keep us here all night), but I still figured I should mention that it was inspired by bee's headcanons first. 
> 
> Also credit to my beta Kelsey b/c she helped me talk through some tricky plot points and this chapter would be different (and, unbelievably enough, _more_ melodramatic) without her.

“Holy shit, dude, what happened to your face?” is the first thing Newt says when he shows up at Hermann’s house after school Tuesday.

Hermann scowls. He can feel it tug on the tender skin around his eye and nose. “Hello to you too, Newton,” he says coolly, and steps out of the doorway so Newt can come in.

“Yeah, yeah, hello, whatever,” Newt says, flapping a hand and stepping past Hermann into the entryway. “Seriously, what happened to your face? That looks awful! Are you okay?”

Hermann gingerly puts his fingers to his face. He doesn’t think it’s as bad as Newt is acting like it is. His right eye is blackened, slightly swollen and turning impressive colors; there’s a slight cut across the bridge of his nose, and it bled some at the time, but it didn’t break and it isn’t too bruised; and his lip is split, that bled a bit too, but now it looks like just a tiny cut, and his lip didn’t really swell up. So altogether, he thinks it looks much better than it feels. One would think he’d bruise easily, with his pale skin, but fortunately he does not. 

He goes to sit down on the couch as Newt takes off his shoes and says grumpily, “I walked into a door frame. It looks worse than it is.” 

Newt looks at his cane, leaning against the couch. 

Hermann glares at him and wishes looks could kill. If Newt says anything, Hermann thinks he cannot be held responsible for his actions. So he needs his cane today, so bloody what, why is Newt assuming that’s related to him having a black eye? (It _is_ , he's sore all over and didn't want to push it by leaving his cane home, but Newt has no way of knowing that.)

Newt has the decency, at least, to look abashed and return his gaze to Hermann. “A door frame, you walked into a door frame, seriously? And you gave yourself that bad of a black eye from that?”

 _Walked into a door frame_ , is an excuse Hermann has been using for, god, years now. With some variations, of course. Walked into a wall, a corner, a pole, tripped and fell down if he feels like mixing it up a bit. He used it yesterday, in fact, as his father is actually home, and even though he used nearly the exact same excuse just a few weeks ago, his father had no problem with it. Didn’t even scold him for being clumsy or thoughtless. No one ever questions it. Why would they? But of course Newt has to be different, damn him. 

“Yes,” he says. “I know it’s very clumsy and stupid, go on and make fun of me.” There, that sounded convincing. He’s such a liar. 

“Dude, it looks painful, I think I might actually feel too bad for you to make fun of you,” Newt says, kicking his shoes off in the entryway. He stands up and walks the few steps over to the couch and, instead of sitting down, leans over Hermann and delicately brushes his fingers over the skin next to his eye. “A door frame? Giving yourself a black eye from that, holy shit, you really don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

“Don’t touch it,” Hermann says, resisting the urge to knock his hand away. Normally he likes Newt touching him, more than he’d care to admit, but this, this tenderness, is making him feel sort of guilty and ashamed. 

“Sorry, does it hurt?” Newt pulls his hand away and sits down next to him. “D’you need an ice pack?”

“I used one yesterday,” Hermann says. “It’s fine, _really_ , stop fussing about it.” 

Newt raises his eyebrows. “You’re grumpy today. Grumpier.”

He is, he knows it, he’s irritable and off balance today. Ever since yesterday. They’d already arranged that Newt would come over today, but he’d seriously been considering telling him not to come, and he thinks again he should have. He just knew Newt would be weird about the bruises on his face, and Hermann may be good at lying but that doesn’t mean he likes it. Or likes Newt looking at the bruises this much. He doesn’t like him even knowing about it, even if he seems to be buying the lie now. 

“Yes, well, it’s annoying to have bloody everyone asking me about it,” he says. Which is not untrue. He’s been lying all day - mostly to teachers, particularly Mr. Hansen, whom he isn’t even currently taking a class with but who still cornered him in the halls and looked very suspicious of his story - and it is part of why he feels like this. 

Newt smiles slyly and leans in again. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

And. Possibly that’s why he didn’t call Newt and tell him not to come over today. He’s having an awful day, an awful series of days, an awful life, isn’t it okay to just do this? To turn his face to Newt and part his lips and lean into the kiss and sigh and feel warm and good and-

Not think about it.

Newt makes that seductive sound in the back of his throat and leans in more, pinning Hermann back against the couch, one arm coming up next to Hermann’s head to balance himself, the other coming to clutch at his waist, right below his rib cage.

Ow. 

He flinches and jerks away against his will and, most incriminatingly, can’t help but gasp out a little “Ow!” 

Newt lets go immediately, which is good. Leans back and looks horrified, which is not good. “Oh shit, did I hurt you?” Also not good. 

Hermann sits up and says, “No, no- Ugh-” His skin is stinging, but worse is the throb under the skin. Even moving makes it hurt. 

Newt’s eyes narrow and he says, “What the hell-” which is back to not good, and suddenly lunges forward and grabs Hermann’s shirt and yanks it up, which is very not good. 

“Hey!” Hermann half shouts, half growls, and lunges away, to his feet - too fast, it hurts again, his leg and his taut, aching skin - and pulls his shirt down. But rather too late. Newt very definitely saw the mottled bruise across his torso, darkening to purple at his waist, a few scrapes as well. “ _Asshole_!” Hermann yells, not realizing it’s German till it comes out, too upset to discriminate between the two languages. 

“Oh my god,” Newt says. “What the hell?”

“It’s nothing, Newton!” As if using his full name could put distance between them in this moment. 

“There’s no way you got that from walking into a doorway!” Newt says, voice rising, a finger coming up to point accusingly.

“It’s none of your damn business!” Hermann says furiously. 

“None of my- If someone is, is beating you up, that’s-” Newt goes sort of white and cuts himself off. 

“I’m fine, what’s it matter!” 

“Hermann,” Newt says. He’s unexpectedly gone quiet again, but intense, staring at Hermann like he is trying to see through him. “If. Um. I mean, I’ve kinda gotten the vibe you don’t have a great relationship with your dad-” 

“Oh for _god’s sake_!” 

“And uh you might be scared to be honest but I can help you, I swear, if you need to get away you could come to my house and my dad can help-” 

“My father is not beating me, how dare you!” Hermann shouts. He’s so angry he’s shaking. As if his father would do that. (He wouldn’t, right?) “Don’t just jump to conclusions!” 

“I- But there’s no way you didn’t get those bruises from someone hitting you- So what am I supposed to think?”

“Don’t think anything, it’s none of your business! It’s just a bruise or two!” 

“That’s not good enough!” Newt exclaims. His voice is even shriller than usual. Hermann might think it was funny if he wasn’t so mad. “Why are you lying about this, I don’t understand!” 

“It was just- I just-” 

“God, just be honest with me for once!” 

That’s so unfair because it’s not like he’s directly lied to Newt, or maybe a little bit, once or twice, but not a lot, and just about personal things, and it’s not fair, and he doesn’t know what to say and it doesn’t seem like Newt is going to give in and the truth comes stumbling out. 

“It was just some people from school, that’s all!” 

Then it goes quiet and he’s not angry anymore, he’s just ashamed and confused and miserable. 

It was Laird. Plus another. A boy that went to middle school with him. After school, Monday. That hidden corner. Used to be a place he’d felt safe. Laird hit him in the face at least twice as the other boy held him. He has bruises on his arms too. Then struck him in the stomach. And the whole time they said horrible things. Laughed at him. Then there was the sound of someone coming near, so they went away. Left him there. He didn’t even miss the bus. 

And he did what he always does. He takes such moments and he cuts it away from the moments surrounding it and he hides it away. There’s a pool of ice somewhere in him, and he buries it there, he freezes it solidly in layers of lies and “I’m fine,” so deep that no one can see it, not even him. Where he doesn’t have to think about it. Doesn’t have to decide what he feels about it. Doesn’t have to look at it. Unless someone else goes searching for it, cracks the ice and digs up the things hidden there. 

“Christ, dude,” Newt breathes. “That’s- Y-you mean kids from school beat you up? That’s horrible, fuck, are you okay?” 

Hermann snorts bitterly. He’s frozen, standing in the ice as Newt cuts through the layers, but he can still pretend to be normal, maybe it will distract Newt. “This is nothing- Don’t look at me like that! I don’t need you to pity me!” 

“Fuck, Hermann,” Newt says, shaking his head. He looks a bit like he might cry. “That’s not okay. That’s awful. Why would someone do that?” 

It’s not like he’s bloody well going to tell Newt it’s because of _him_. 

“Does this happen a lot?” Newt continues. 

“No,” he says, wrapping his arms around himself defensively even though it hurts a little bit. 

“But it’s happened before?” Newt says sharply, clearly catching something from Hermann’s tone. 

“S-so what? What do you _care_!” 

“Jesus, Hermann, if people are beating the shit out of you, of course I care! Duh! Why do you find that hard to believe, why’d you try to lie?” 

The ice in his mind cracks more. “Because it’s pathetic!” 

It’s pathetic. He hates it. 

Even in elementary school back in Germany, he never really had friends. He didn’t talk very much and when he did he was mostly only interested in school, mathematics and science. The other students thought he was weird and a teacher’s pet and often made fun of him. Sometimes they hit him or pushed him down. But mostly he was quiet and kept to himself, too shy to talk, able to take the hint that other kids weren’t interested in the things he was, and the other students left him alone. And it’s always easier, of course, to pretend that you don’t want to talk to them _anyway_ than that you are lonely. To pretend you hate them and find them boring rather than admit you would want to be friends but they have already rejected you for things you couldn’t help. 

It was different after they moved to America. It was worse. The hardest part is that he knows it’s his fault. It could have been a chance to change himself, to actually get along with his classmates, or at least not stand out as a weirdo. But he was...he was angry and miserable because of all that was going on in his life at that time, and that only worsened his already existing tendencies to glare, act superior, speak sarcastically. He managed to promptly make most of his grade dislike him. Even Tendo, he is fairly sure, only started talking to him out of pity and because he didn’t really have any friends either. 

They weren’t quite as vicious back then, of course not, they were younger and didn’t have the same motivation as now, but it was still somewhat bad, and rather frequent. And then he made a really stupid mistake; he told his father the truth when he asked about the bruises. 

He was...disappointed almost doesn’t seem the word. Disgusted might be better. He lectured Hermann and told him that bullies like that only went for _cowards_ and he just needed to stand up for himself and fight back, make them respect him, didn’t he know that, honestly, things were supposed to be better here, and he was very busy, he didn’t want issues like this, he really expected better of Hermann… He must have said that sort of thing back in Germany too because he has always expected better of Hermann, but it seemed to hurt a lot more after they moved. 

So he did what his father told. He went back to school and waited until the next time those boys went after him, and he attempted to stand up for himself and defend himself. They utterly beat the hell out of him - he was fairly sure he broke a rib - and then when a teacher came across them and broke up the fight, they blamed it all on Hermann and said he started it. And Hermann was the one to get in trouble. 

His father was furious. 

The next time someone at school hit him, he didn’t fight back. He took the hit silently and glared with complete loathing at the boy who did it, and that was all. When he went home, his father asked him about the bruise, with anger on his face, but like he wasn’t expecting Hermann to say anything other than that he had been targeted again. He was so ready to be disappointed, he expected nothing more than that. Hermann didn’t want to be a disappointment anymore. He was ashamed of his cowardice in letting that boy strike him. He didn’t know what else to do anymore. He didn’t know how else to stand up for himself. 

Therefore, the lie: “I. Ah. Tripped and fell.” He was not even really expecting his father to believe him, but he did. Or claimed to, at least. From then on, Hermann always lied. About the bruises and about if he liked school and if he had friends and if he was happy. 

Because his father didn’t really care. Not about those sorts of things. He just wanted- 

There’s this person Hermann is supposed to be. This person who gets good grades and follows the rules and doesn’t get in trouble. He is brave and strong and obedient and well-behaved, clever and polite and successful. He has friends and someday will have a girlfriend and he is in clubs and plays sports and is admired by others. He’ll go to a good college and get a good, solid, responsible job. He stands on his own, he never needs anyone else. His father expects him to be this person, wants him to be, but it’s not just his father, it’s everyone, it’s Hermann too. That’s who he wants to be. That’s who he should be. And he isn’t. He is so few of those things. Smart, maybe, but probably not as smart as he should be. 

He tries so hard to be that person. He tries to encourage and improve the parts he has (but not well enough) and to cut away the parts that don’t fit. His vulnerabilities, his flaws, selfish wants, painful memories, his doubts, his ugly, confusing feelings. His cowardice, his dependency on others, the things inside of him that make him be rejected by others, that make him reject others first. He tries to force himself into the mold of who he is supposed to be. But not all of it will go away, so much of it lingers on and on, festering, ugly shards of his self that grow back no matter how hard he tries to throw them away. That’s why his father is always disappointed in him, always expecting better. 

What else is he supposed to do other than hide it all away, shove it into the back of his mind, bury it in ice, pretend it doesn’t exist, pretend even he does not know it exists? Don’t look at it, don’t ever look at it, try not to let anyone else look either. His father will accept that, his father _wants_ him to do that, he’s made that clear enough. If he can’t have the perfect son he wants, at least he can pretend. He doesn’t want to see the ugly parts. 

Of course he doesn’t want to. Who would? Who wants to look at another human being and see all the things inside them, all the horrid things, the ways in which you are not good enough? Everyone would rather look away from those things, no one has time or patience or interest in the garbage parts of your soul. No one wants to see. Hermann doesn’t want to see. It’s better to hide those things, only think of them when you have to, pretend they aren’t there the rest of the time. It’s better to take the hits when they come, to fall down and curl up with your hands over your head so they can’t hurt you as bad until they go away and you can get up and lie to everyone about what happened and glare at anyone that dares to pity you. It’s better to not think about what a coward you are. It’s better to pretend you never need help and can always stand on your own, both literally and metaphorically. It’s better to pretend you don’t know why you want to kiss the pretty boy that kisses you and says interesting things. It’s better to pretend you aren’t wrong in all the possible ways one could be wrong, better to pretend you aren’t a disappointment. 

So why? Why is Newt asking? Acting like he cares? Why can’t he just let Hermann lie and hide the bruises and flaws? 

It’s so pathetic. 

He puts his hands over his bruised face and tries to remember how to breathe. He’s so pathetic. 

He’s never heard Newt sound the way he does when he says, “Hermann.” 

“It just makes it worse when I fight back, so what am I supposed to _do_? I know it makes me a _coward_ , but what else am I supposed to do? Everyone hates me anyway, I don’t care, but I’d fight back if I goddamn well could!” He would fight. He wants to fight. He used to want to pilot a fighter jet, when he was a child. He just knows he’s too weak now. 

“No, no, I, I didn’t mean to say that you should! I didn’t mean to upset you, I don’t think there’s anything pathetic or cowardly about it, it’s not your fault in any way!”

“Yes, it is!” he chokes out. It is his fault. He doesn’t hide the things that are bad about him well enough, no matter how hard he tries he’s still awkward and weird and rude and stuck up and bad at talking to people. He didn’t hide Newt well enough. And why, why are all of those things even bad, he wouldn’t care about any of it or about what people thought of him if it wasn’t for moments like this, like yesterday, like Laird cornering him after school with his friend, both of them boys bigger than Hermann. 

“No, Hermann, no way, definitely not, it’s only the fault of the assholes that do shit like this! Really. _Really_. C’mon, dude, please sit down, I didn’t mean to upset you this badly, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” 

He sits down, but only because his leg is shaking under him and has that feeling it gets occasionally, like it might simply give way. He deliberately chose the edge farthest from Newt, but Newt immediately slides across the couch and tentatively puts one arm around him. Hermann stiffens but it...feels nice. Warm. Newt even presses his mouth to his forehead, for just a second, and he doesn’t know what that means, but it feels nice too. 

They sit like that for a bit. It gets a little easier to breathe. He suspects Newt was waiting for that before he asks gently, “Are you okay?” 

He drops his hands from his face and clenches them into fists in his lap. “I’m _fine_.” 

“Okay, because you seem really upset.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You can admit it if you are-” 

“I’m no-” 

“I mean, you listened to me the other day when I was upset, so I don’t mind- in fact, I _want_ to do the same for you.” 

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. The two things don’t seem quite the same somehow, but he isn’t sure why. 

“It’s not...right for people to do that,” Newt says hesitantly. “And it’s not your fault. People who would do that...They are the ones that are pathetic. It pisses me off that that happened to you- I don’t even get it, why?” 

“It, it doesn’t matter why, I’ve never been popular, people just don’t like me.” 

“N-no, you’re right, it doesn’t matter,” Newt hurries to say. “It’s not like there’s anything that could justify this. And- And that’s not true, I like you.” 

The words twist strangely in his chest. He thinks he should be happy about it. Maybe he will be later. But right now it feels impossible, undeserved, painful. A lie. He’s just saying it to be nice because he knows Hermann is upset. 

“I don’t. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t like talking about things like this. I don’t see the point- It doesn’t make me feel any _better_ to talk about being humiliated.” 

“Oh. Um. Okay. That’s okay. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“No,” he bites out. Even the good things Newt are doing right now, like putting his arm around him, are also sort of bad, because they are so confusing, it’s all so confusing, he doesn’t know why Newt is doing it. Some part of him insists it must be pity or something like that, and he despises that. 

“Dude, do you just...want me to go?” 

It doesn’t seem right that his brain thinks both _yes_ and _no_. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want to be like this in front of Newt, in front of anyone. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to enjoy himself at all until he calms down, and he doesn’t think he can calm down in front of Newt. So: 

“That’s probably for the best." 

“That’s fine,” Newt says. Hermann dares to look at him full on for the very first time. He’s dreading pity or contempt or worry, but instead Newt is frowning in a way that looks thoughtful. That’s possibly worse. What on Earth is he thinking about? “Um, can I come back later, tomorrow maybe?” 

“Tomorrow works,” Hermann says hesitantly. 

Newt stands up. “Okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll leave- Umm. Hermann?” 

“Yes?” he asks warily. 

“It’s cool if you say no, but can I kiss you just once before I go?” 

“Ah- Oh. Um. I suppose so.” 

Newt bends over him and cups one hand on his jaw, away from the bruises but nonetheless still pressing as gently as if he’s afraid of hurting Hermann. He pauses a second before their lips touch, his breath tickling Hermann’s face, and then he closes the centimeter of distance. Hermann shuts his eyes. There’s something odd in the kiss. Something different. It feels the same way that Newt saying I like you just now did. Painful and twisted and unacceptable. And undeserved. Because it is too soft and kind. It makes his eyes prickle. He doesn’t want Newt to stop. 

But he does, only a few seconds later, he pulls away and straightens up and says, unusually solemn, “Well, see you tomorrow, I guess,” and turns around and walks away, barely even pausing to shove his feet in his shoes. 

When he’s gone, Hermann tips over carefully to lie down on the couch on his less painful side. His eyes have gone blurry, but he doesn’t cry. He’s too tired to cry. He has the vague, grim presentiment that this won’t last much longer. It will all have to come to an end soon, won’t it. Maybe he’s saving his tears for then, he thinks, and then scolds himself for such a silly, sentimental, indulgent thought, and he makes himself sit up and start studying. Finals are next week. 

 

 

School the next day is...not the worst it could possibly be. It’s the second day of showing up with the bruises (and his cane), and people openly laugh at him. Talk about him behind his back. Talk about him to his face. Say the ugliest words. Attempt to trip him and knock his things out of his hand. But he feels a little better today, a little stronger. He glares at everyone that dares look at him. 

It’s not the worst it could be. Not good, but not bad. He can endure this. He can endure anything. And maybe this is his own way of fighting, to act like he despises all of them and doesn’t care what they think. Maybe if he pretends long enough, it’ll become true. Tendo always says, “Fake it till you make it!” with an obnoxious wink.

(Speaking of Tendo. He catches sight of him down the school hallway, talking to Cara and another girl that has been one of the more vocal of his harassers. They are all smiling and laughing. Hermann ducks out of sight and feels an emotion he can’t name burn sickly in his stomach.)

He’s still glad when the day ends, although it means enduring a bus ride. Glad to be home alone. Bas has a club, he has clubs most days of the week, so Hermann should have at least an hour or two alone with Newt. It’ll go better today. He’ll be better. He’ll act normally. 

To honor that, he even stiffly apologizes to Newt for his behavior the previous day once they are alone in Hermann’s bedroom, although he still has no intention of explaining why he was that upset. He doesn’t like saying sorry very much, it means admitting he was in the wrong, but he supposes he was a little in the wrong, snapping like that and acting so emotional. 

He’s expecting Newt to question him, and he’s ready to be calm and non-specific in his responses and to perhaps subtly point out it isn’t his business, but it doesn’t end up being necessary. All Newt says is, “It’s fine, dude.”

“Oh,” Hermann says, thrown off balance by that. 

He’s hardly even begun to get it back before Newt leans over, says, “Ready?” and starts kissing him as soon as he nods. 

And that’s the most they talk the whole time Newt is there. Which isn’t very long, probably less than an hour. The kissing is nice, relaxing, it’s what Hermann wanted, just to kiss and not to talk. Just like the first few times they did this...only, that’s not really right, is it? The very first time they kissed, they didn’t talk at all, but after that, they always talked a little bit. Even that awkward first time, they bickered about science before kissing and watched tv together after. They’ve talked about science fiction, school, family, friends, goals for the future, music, they’ve played video games at Newt’s house and watched tv and gone to a movie, talked on the phone (entirely unrelated to kissing), have texted on and off, nearly every day now that he thinks about it. 

“ _Sounds a bit like dating to me_ ,” Alison said. 

Maybe it does. Does it? But it’s not that, he knows it isn’t. He just, he likes talking to Newt. He’s clever and funny and although he argues with almost everything Hermann says and disparages most of it, he also never really dismisses it, or ignores it, or even really seems to think it’s silly, despite what he says. He’s smarter than almost anyone Hermann has ever talked to. He’s never boring. He acts like he doesn’t think Hermann is boring either, or mind that he’s rude or awkward. It’s fun to talk to him, and easy, easy the way it is almost never easy to talk to anyone. It was hard enough to admit to himself that he looked forward to these meetings because of the thought of kissing him, but now he wonders if it isn’t also simply that he wants to see Newt and talk to him. He certainly can’t deny that even as Newt kisses him, he’s disappointed and possibly even hurt that Newt didn’t even try to talk. 

And the kiss, too, is somehow a little lacking. Less enthusiastic, perhaps. Newt keeps one hand on Hermann’s shoulder and makes no attempt to touch him elsewhere. Hermann feels strangely like he isn’t supposed to touch Newt either. And particularly in comparison to the last kiss of the day before, which was so tender, this one seems cold and disinterested. Hermann feels something like dread twine around his lungs.

Did he do something wrong? After all, yesterday he lied to Newt, was short tempered, snapped at him, refused to share his feelings. He was upset and he’s horrible when he’s upset. He was at his worst yesterday. Maybe Newt was hurt by something he said or did. Maybe he realized what sort of person Hermann is. Maybe he always knew and now he’s regretting agreeing to this daft experiment. Or maybe he’s just gotten bored of this and wants to get back to his ordinary life, one that doesn’t involve Hermann. 

What will happen after this experiment is over? Surely it will end soon, Newt is probably losing patience and after all- after all- Hermann probably already knows the answer. When it’s over, they won’t have any reason to see each other more. To text anymore, to hang out and talk and watch silly sci fi shows together. Newt will go back to college and his horrible friends and Hermann will go back to...it feels so lonely. 

Newt pulls away. Hermann looks at him with wide eyes. His hair isn’t as mussed as usual today, it lies flatter, but it still looks good on him. His eyes look intensely green today. His freckles...that was one of the first things Hermann noticed about him. Tiny little gold dots splattered all over his skin. Hermann really likes his freckles, how did he not notice that before? 

“I should probably go, my dad’ll be home from work soon,” Newt says casually. 

He parts his lips, not knowing what to say. He should say something. Maybe he should tell him he likes his freckles. Ask him if they will still be friends when the experiment ends. “Oh. I see.” 

Newt’s smile looks plastered on, artificial. “You free this weekend?” He doesn’t even sound like he cares what the answer will be but Hermann’s heart jumps gratefully, until he remembers-

“Damn- No, actually. My father will be home, he doesn’t leave for his next trip until Sunday. And I have finals next week. I have to study.”

He wants Newt to be disappointed to hear that. Instead Newt shrugs and says, “Oh well, too bad,” and it actually sort of _hurts_. 

“I-I should have more free time after finals are over. They end Wednesday, and my Dad doesn’t get home until the evening of that day,” Hermann says. 

“Sounds good,” Newt says, glancing at the door. “Yeah, I should really go now. Bye, Hermann.” 

Hermann hasn’t even finished saying, “Bye,” before Newt walks out Hermann’s bedroom and shuts the door behind him.

Oh god. 

Yesterday, he had an ominous sort of presentiment that this odd little experiment of theirs was going to send soon. That feeling reoccurs even more forcefully now, with good reason. Newt seemed so disinterested, so _bored_ , and if he’s bored, what are the chances this will last much longer? And then- Then- 

They only met about a month ago. They had no idea of each other’s existence before that day. Yes, Newt can call them “friends,” but Hermann knows how difficult it is to make friends and how easy it is to lose them. It doesn't really mean anything to say they are friends. When the experiment is over, they will no longer have any reason to see each other, and Newt will slip quietly from his life, as if he had never been there, everything the same as it had been before that dreadful party a month ago. 

It ought to be easy. A month, that it isn’t really long enough for someone to become entangled in your life, is it? But when Hermann thinks about it, about not seeing Newt again, not kissing him, not talking or arguing or texting or calling, not watching sci fi shows and movies; it doesn’t feel like he felt a month ago. It feels like an absence, like losing something. 

And it’s not as if the way things were a month ago were so much better, or were better at all. Because really- really, a month ago he was bored and lonely. No one to talk to, not consistently, not when hanging out with Tendo could always mean hanging out with Tendo’s friends too and feeling burdensome and out of place, and when he didn’t properly know if he was friends with Alison or not. He went home from school every day and studied and that was essentially all and it was so boring and lonely. Simply arguing with Newt is a thousand times more interesting, never mind their other activities. Or even texting with him, or thinking about talking to him, or running over one of their past arguments and thinking up new rebuttals for the next time he sees Newt, as he finds himself doing at least once a day now, is better than the mechanical way he went through each day before. And he didn’t even really know that that was lonely, he didn’t have much to compare it to, he didn’t have Newt to compare it to. 

Now, to go back to that, sounds awful. He would know how lonely it is now. And it would be even worse, because at least before he wouldn’t be feeling this absence, both hollow and heavy, the space where Newt ought to be. Before, he wasn’t thinking about Newt, wishing he could see him, _missing_ him-

God. The experiment isn’t even over yet, Newt isn’t gone yet, but simply thinking about how he will feel if- No, _when_ , when this ends, is-

It’s almost like panic. He knew all along that this experiment would be a limited thing, but now, actually confronted with the idea of not seeing Newt again, it’s panic. And, and, pain. A surprisingly real sort of pain in his chest. What will he do if he can’t ever see Newt again? These irregular, two or three times a week meetings have been the highlights of his awful past few weeks. Every day, he looked forward to seeing Newt again. Not just because kissing him was nice, he also actually looked forward to Newt, to relieve the boredom, to make him less lonely, and more than that too, there was something more that is hard to describe, he just, he liked- he liked-

His thoughts seem to be almost literally swirling, a chaotic stream he can’t force to settle into logic, but what keeps reoccurring is: 

He told Alison that Newt was certainly not interested in him that way ( _that way_ meaning, “dating,” “romance,” “a relationship.”)

Alison said, “D’you want him to be?”

Does he want him to be? 

What does being interested in someone like that even entail? _Think this through logically_ , he tells himself. He may not have ever properly had a crush himself, but he thinks he’s seen enough television and romance and read enough books and seen it enough in other people to know at least most of the major conventional components, although of course he knows those don’t apply to everyone. 

There’s thinking they are good-looking, attractive, of course. Wanting to kiss them. Wanting to be around them, talk to them, do things with them, particularly date-like things. Feeling happy when one sees them. Thinking about them a lot. Wanting them to do all of these things in return. 

So, to be logical:

Hypothesis: If Person A enjoys kissing Person B, is physically attracted to them, enjoys spending time with them and talking to them, thinks about them frequently, and hopes they feel the same, then Person A likes Person B. 

Experiment: Hermann spent a good deal of time with Newt in various circumstances, kissed him in a variety of way, participated in various activities with him.

Result: Hermann enjoyed all of this and would like to continue to do it. 

Conclusion: If Hermann experiences all of the above for Newt, then Hermann likes Newt. 

“Oh god. Oh god.” 

Corollary: 

Hypothesis: If Person A, who is male, likes Person B, also male, then Person A is not straight.

Experiment: See above. 

Result: See above.

Conclusion: Hermann is not straight. 

“Oh god.” He puts his hands over his face. He’s shaking, he notes dimly. And he can’t quite catch his breath. 

He thinks maybe he’s known this was true for a while. Girls are perfectly nice, and occasionally attractive, but he’s never had the sort of enthusiasm for them that other boys the same age as him demonstrate. But there have been...not often, not all the time, but certainly more often than for girls, there have been boys and men he’s been. Attracted to. His dreams, for instance, dreams of that specific kind, always featured men. Maybe it should have been obvious. But he was- he is- he’s scared. Newt. He likes Newt. A boy. A boy who can’t possibly like him back. A boy. The cliff edge, that image comes back to him. It’s as he thought, he looked and he fell and there’s no going back. He knows this now. About himself. He likes boys. 

It’s too much. It’s not fair. No wonder he was so shocked and upset that first time Newt kissed him. He kept looking at Newt that day, in the party, god, did he think he was cute even then? He kept telling himself it was just because he thought Newt looked interesting, but then, isn’t that what he always says. And then to be kissed, by a boy, a boy he had been thinking was cute, when he’s been trying so hard for so long to pretend he didn’t know he is- he likes- he is attracted to boys. To hide that, even from himself, like he hides everything, because it’s going to make everything so complicated and hard, it’s going to be another thing he has to either hide from his father or disappoint him with. And then Newt kissed him and knocked all these things loose, brought to the front the things he didn’t want to see. That’s why it was so upsetting to be kissed by a boy. Because it wasn’t gross or nothingness, it was interesting and exciting and forbidden. 

“Oh god, oh.”

But it’s not like he’s ever had a, a crush or whatever this is on a boy before, he’s just looked, been interested, attracted, and not even that often, and it’s so unfair, why does the first person he has to like have to be someone that- God, and it’s his fault, that first time he called Newt, Newt thought he was asking him out, and maybe if he’d just said yes to that then this would all be different, but instead he was rude, and has been rude this whole time, and who knows what Newt thinks of him, but it’s probably nothing good. (God, what if Newt thinks Hermann is straight? Surely Newt wouldn’t be so foolish as to allow himself to have any sort of feelings for a straight boy.)

He likes Newt. He likes a boy. He does. He likes him a lot. Spending time with him was lovely and confusing and exciting and not just because of the kissing. All of it was good. Even the arguing. Especially the arguing. How many people argue with Hermann without getting confused or angry or condescending? Newt is frustrating and annoying and brilliant and Hermann likes him so much. The only reason he didn’t know until now that he likes him was because of how viciously and steadfastly he was lying to himself. He wants to kiss him more and spend time with him and see him every day and most of all, most of all he wants Newt to feel the same way. 

He thinks he might start crying. He carefully lies down on his bed, on his side, and shuts his eyes hard. 

It’s utterly impossible that Newt feels the same way. Hermann made it clear all along that this was only meant to be an experiment, that none of it meant anything. He was lying to himself about that, but there’s little possibility Newt knows that. And he’s acted so foolishly this whole time, and so juvenile, it must be laughable to someone like Newt, already in college and spending his time with people older and probably cleverer than Hermann. Hermann had no intention of trying to impress Newt, he usually doesn’t care much about trying to make people like him - that generally seems like a lost cause - so Newt has seen him prickly and rude and stuck up and nervous. He’s insulted Newt and made fun of his major and all around been an utter _prat_. And, as he’s already realized, Newt probably thinks he’s straight and, oh god, what if he thinks Hermann was just using him as some sort of silly sexual experimentation as some straight teenagers are (so he has heard) prone to doing? 

Dear god, not only is it impossible that Newt likes Hermann, it seems increasingly likely that he instead hates him. Maybe that was why he was so strange today. Maybe Hermann shouting at him yesterday made him realize he hates Hermann. 

This is horrible. This is all utterly horrible. He wants it to stop. He wants to stop feeling anything at all. He’s so confused, shouldn’t realizing these deep fundamental truths about himself make things better, not worse? 

What should he _do_? 

The experiment is over, right? He’s figured it out. Found out why he reacted that way to Newt, and understood a lot of other things as well. So it’s over. The next time Newt asks him if he’s figured out the results of the experiment, as he usually does when they do this - does he want it to be over as soon as possible? - he will either have to admit it’s because of some pathetic identity crisis and end the whole thing and never see Newt again. 

Or he can lie. But- He can only lie so long. He can only keep this going so long. It seems as if Newt is already losing interest. Or possibly hates him. He won’t want to do this much longer. So even if he lies, after only a few more times, maybe only one more time, he loses Newt. 

He likes Newt and he’s going to lose him right away. And he’s probably gay, at the very least not-straight. This is the worst. 

What on earth does he say to his father? Nothing, of course. More lies. 

Everyone at school was right and does that mean they are justified in hating him? No, no, but- it doesn’t matter if it’s justified, they’ll hate him anyway. He doesn’t even have the option of lying there, because they have already decided it’s true. It’s merely coincidental that it actually is true. But he feels sure that the truth of it will only make things worse. 

He panics like this for a while more. He doesn’t quite cry, at least. But his inhales keep stuttering in his throat as if he’s about to, and his heart flutters and pounds and feels tight and strange, and his jaw aches from the effort of holding back sobs. Every time he starts to calm down, he remembers some new awful thing, some other aspect about this that he doesn’t know how to fix, and panics some more. The only reprieve comes when he thinks-

Oh, god, what does he tell Alison and Tendo?

And realizes that he should absolutely _tell Alison_.

He doesn’t like getting help from others. Still, the sudden thought that he can call Alison and ask for help, advice, is a burst of pure relief. Followed by a little shame that he’s so pleased to depend on someone else and dump his problems on them.

He digs his phone out of his pockets with hands that are, shamefully, still trembling, and pulls up Alison’s phone number. He hesitates, wondering if it would be better to call or text, he often prefers texting and he doesn’t want to interrupt if Alison is in the middle of something, but he also really, really wants to talk. 

He decides to just call in the end. 

“Hello? Hermann?” Alison says when they answer. “This is unexpected, I don’t think you’ve ever called me before.”

“Are you busy?” he asks hesitantly. 

“No. Are you okay? You sound weird.”

He licks his lips nervously and supposes it is best to simply come right out with it. “I think I do like Newt and I don’t think he likes me back and I- ah- I don’t know what to do.” 

There’s a static pause. “Oh.” 

“I-”

“I knew it,” they say smugly.


	10. Peer Review 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you know how many random space facts I have googled for this nerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some more explicit violence in this chapter, including some mentions of blood, but not that explicit - I've never been in a fight - and this is the last time there will be violence in this fic probably.

Alison catches him at his locker next morning, grinning and saying, before he can even open his mouth to greet her, “I _knew_ you were into him!” 

“You’re going to be unbearable about being right, aren’t you,” he grumbles into his locker. Not that he particularly has any right to talk, as he himself is relentlessly smug when he is right about things. It’s unpleasant to be on the other side, to be wrong. 

“Cheer up, Hermann! This is a good thing!” she says, clapping him on the back and smiling so wide he can see where laugh lines will some day form around the corners of her mouth and eyes.

He shuts his locker door with a trifle more force than necessary. There’s still a black smear across the door from where he tried to remove the slur scribbled there. It stands out starkly against the rows of uniform yellow lockers that range down the wall. “How is this possibly a good thing?” 

She tilts her head uncertainly, one red lock of hair tugging loose from her red and black plaid headband that matches her skinny jeans. Alison is prone to changing her style to match her mood. Today seems to be punk. “Isn’t it? You’ve figured out that you’re into him - as I so wisely and predicted - so now you can figure out where to go from here. And you two’ll be adorable together! Aw man, we can go on double dates, I hear that’s a thing normal people do. It’s almost Fourth of July, I can probably get some badass fireworks-” 

“I told you, he doesn’t-” He glances around nervously - the hall is full of students, comparing notes and muttering nervously about the upcoming exams - and lowers his voice to a hiss. Of course, everyone is already entirely convinced of his sexuality, more than he is himself, but that doesn’t mean he needs to make things worse by shouting about it in the halls. “He does not return my feelings!” 

“Are you sure?”

“Perfectly!” he spits. 

She puts her hands on her narrow hips. “And why are you so sure? Have you talked to him about it, at all?”

“Wha- Of course I haven’t!” 

Alison sighs deeply and rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “So you’re just assuming. And instead of talking to him about it, you’re jumping to the worst conclusion - god forbid Hermann Gottlieb ever be positive - and giving up before you even start. Let me guess, you’re planning to suffer in silence and pine over him for god knows how long, right? That’s super noble and beautiful of you, dude, wow. You should try writing angsty poetry, too.” 

It’s hard to say “That’s not true!” when it is, when phrased like this, entirely true. But Hermann manages it anyway, and tacks on, “You haven’t seen how he’s been acting! He’s never given me any sort of indication that he, ah, um, feels anything for me, and the last time, he, he was acting quite the opposite, as if he had no interest in me at all!” 

He wants to believe that Newt could be interested in Hermann the way that Hermann is interested in him, he does. There are even moments he can look back on, now, and wonder about. Inviting him out to the movies, calling him when he was upset, the ice cream thing, etc. But these all seem like such insufficient evidence. With confirmation bias, the desire to be proved right, of course they can seem like they mean something about Newt’s feelings. But if he presses harder at each piece of evidence, well- Newt simply wanted to go see that movie and didn’t want to go alone, he specifically said that the phone call was because he thought of Hermann as a _friend_ \- which is nice, actually very nice, but not exactly what he wants - and the ice cream was simply as thanks for the phone call. Meaningless. And so it goes with everything else Hermann can think of. It’s all simply because Newt is a nice person, or because he views them as being at least sort of friends, or because it was something required by the experiment. There’s no conclusive evidence to show he has any sort of romantic interest in Hermann. And there is plenty to indicate he does _not_ , not least of all his utterly disinterested behavior the last time they interacted. If Alison had seen all that-

“So? You should still tell him,” Alison says. 

He stares. 

She sighs and gentles incrementally, which is probably as gentle as she gets. “So yeah, maybe you’re right, and not just being negative like you always are and like I personally suspect you are being this time. Maybe he really has no interest of that sort in you. And yeah, that sucks, and, you know, fuck him, you deserve better anyway. You should still tell him. If you don’t tell him, the only thing that can happen is that you spend forever pining over him, feeling weird whenever you hang out, bein’ jealous whenever he shows a hint of being interested in someone else; you’ll be miserable and your friendship will be strained. And you’ll spend a really long time wondering what could have happened if you said something. And that sucks really fucking hard, Herms, I have been there, I’m pretty sure it’s the worst possible way to deal with having feelings for someone. On the other hand, you can tell him, and then there are two basic possibilities: either he returns your feelings, in which case, yass, you can tap that! Or whatever the two of you are comfortable with. You can emotionally tap that. Or, he rejects you, in which case, it’s over, no more pining and wondering. You and I will eat a bunch of ice cream and make fun of him and maybe burn some stuff because I find that helps me express my feelings, and then you’ll get over it. Not the best, but not the worst. Pining is the worst. So, see, it’s just logic, I know you love logic; the best and second best option both come from telling him. So tell him.” 

It does sound logical. Yet, there’s still something in him, something that he supposes must be emotional and therefore illogical, that is protesting, saying, no. Because, of course, telling him entails, one, expressing his emotions, something he deeply hates to do, and two, rejection, and rejection likely means never seeing him again, and that _sounds_ a lot worse than pining over him. But really- it’s not like he’d get to pine over him very long, would he? He’s already fairly certain that Newt wishes to end their present arrangement. Which, again, probably means never seeing him again. Therefore, the only possibility of a positive outcome, remote as it seems, lies in telling him. 

God, it sounds hard though. 

And he doesn’t like to give in quite that easily, so he says, “And how long did it take you and Tendo to stop flirting with each other and actually admit you liked each other? I distinctly remember months of awkward flirting.”

She winces. “Touche- Or, actually, no. See, that’s just proof I’m right. I know how shitty it is to just wallow in liking someone and not actually admit it. Don’t be like us.” 

“I- I suppose…”

“At least think about it,” she says, touching his shoulder lightly. 

He nods. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

“Good,” she says. “Now...Um. Do you want to talk about the whole...sexual identity crisis thing? Because I can help with that. I’m pretty good at it by now.” 

Maybe there was something in his locker he still needs. The pen he’s been taking notes with is getting a little low on ink, he has a few spare pens in the locker he could get out. He fiddles with the lock, pretending he can’t quite remember the combination. “Passing time is almost over.”

“We still have a few minutes. “

Yes, of course they do, the one minute bell indicating class is about to start hasn’t rung yet, and anyway they both agreed to do the best they could to get here as early as possible to have time to talk. Alison was hanging out with Tendo when he called her yesterday, it was a little awkward, and anyway he was a little...worked up, not in the best state to converse. Better to do it at school, but subtly, of course. Although. Once again, it really doesn’t matter that much if anyone overhears, everyone already knows. 

“It’s just that it’s one more thing,” he says abruptly. 

“What?”

He gestures at himself with something almost like a smile, but too sarcastic, bitter. “I’m already- _different_ in almost every way I can be. It’s just one more thing. It doesn’t even really matter, whatever it is, it’s just one more thing that people will look down on me for.” 

“Oh, Hermann,” she says, and that tone is the exact reason he hates talking about things like this. He hates to complain. Or, well, that isn’t true, he’s aware that he, in fact, complains a great deal, but not about things like this, personal things that will make people pity you or be disappointed in you. “That’s not true, you know-”

“Are you really going to say people don’t hate me here?” he says sharply, rapping his hand on the metal next to the black smear that was once a cruel word. Still is, because he thinks of it every time he sees the stain, so what’s the difference, really, whether or not the letters are still there? 

“I- Okay, first of all, not everyone does! Only those fuckin’ assholes, and those people don’t matter, they’re worthless, I know you know that. And secondly, what I meant was, it’s not, it’s not something bad, something hateful. There’s nothing bad about being gay. Or whatever. You don’t have to label it, that’s fine, but whatever it is, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

He swallows past the tightness in his throat. Alison is leaning in close, almost crowding him, as if coming nearer to him will help him convince him, a layer of heat, almost aggressive, under her words. “I know that,” he says. “I’m perfectly aware, I don’t think there’s anything- Please don’t think I think that.” It’s important she doesn’t, because if he did think that, it would have to mean he’d been thinking awful things about her - and Tendo and Newt too - and he doesn’t want her to think he was. “But _other_ people don’t think that, and I, I know they don’t matter but sometimes it’s hard to remember that when-” He stops when he realizes Alison is now staring, not quite into his eyes, slightly to the side of them. And that he is now lightly touching, with one hand, the fading bruise around his eye. 

“Oh, Hermann,” she says again, as if she can’t decide whether to be pitying or horrified or angry. “Is that how...goddammit, I knew you weren’t telling the truth when you said you walked into a door or whatever. Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“What are you supposed to do? Oh, I know you _would_ do something awful to them but one of us would just get in trouble then, and it’d just make them angrier-”

“You have to stand up to people like that!” she cries fiercely.

The anger snaps up cold and hard inside of him. An ugly, solid thing inside of him with a relentless forward momentum, so that the words spill out, low and precise and furious. “Oh, of course it’s never occurred to me to do that before! Yes, this whole time I’ve just been letting everyone walk all over me like this with no thought of standing up to them, I’ve just been a _coward_ about it all these years, if only I could be brave like-”

She flinches back, eyes wide with surprise. “No, no, that’s not what I mean! I just-” 

He knows he’s being unfair. He knows Alison is being quite nice to him and he ought to apologize. But he’s so very tired of being told things like this, of being told what he ought to do, ought to be. Of never ever being good enough. Everyone always expecting more of him, as if it’s easy, and maybe it is for other people, but not for him. No one ever understands how hard it really is. 

“I know,” he says bitterly. “Class will start soon, we should go,” and walks away without looking back. 

He passes Tim Laird on his way to class. He has the nerve to smirk at Hermann and tap the side of his face that corresponds to Hermann’s black eye. 

He ought to duck his head, or ignore him with as much dignity as he can, that’s what he usually does, but instead he glares with the force of all the ugly, confused feelings inside of him. The smile slip off Laird’s face and be replaced with a dangerous look of anger, and Hermann is going to catch it for that later, but he still feels sort of satisfied with himself as he stomps off to class. 

 

 

The text comes the day after, shortly after the end of the school day. From Newt. It says:

 _i think we should talk about the “experiment.” youre done with school tomorrow right? can we talk then?_

Hermann sits on the bus holding the phone with hands that tingle. It’s loud, horribly loud, louder even than usual with kids blowing off steam from the second day of exams, shouting at each other and shoving. The girl sitting next to him is listening to music on headphones with the volume so loud that he can hear it blaring tinnily, and her purse is sitting between the two of them and digging into his thigh. He doesn’t notice any of this.

Oh, he keeps thinking. Oh. He was right. Newt does want to end things. 

He hadn’t expected anything else, he was really not expecting anything other than to find out that Newt was no longer interested in the experiment - what the hell does he mean by putting that in quotation marks? - but it’s still a dull shock. He stares at the phone screen in his hands, the words there, white text against a small blue bubble against white. He attempts to imagine how Newt would sound if he said it aloud, what sort of expression he would make. Unhappy? Annoyed? Would he meet Hermann’s eyes? Or would he be careless, unaware of what he was saying even mattered? 

“We should talk.” Nothing ever good follows words like that. And that’s what people say, right? When they want to break up with you? Not that they are dating, but that’s what it must mean, in this sort of context. Particularly considering that Newt was so odd the last time they were together. And what does putting “experiment” in quotation marks indicate? Nothing good, surely nothing good.

 _It’s not fair_ , he thinks wretchedly. He didn’t even get a chance to try. To tell Newt that he has feelings for him, or to try and make Newt feel something for him, or anything. He was going to tell Newt the next time he saw him, he really was- probably- he had almost made up his mind to do so- It’s really not fair, he only just realized how he felt, and it was - is - very confusing, and considering he’s spent the last few days studying and being tested and trying to avoid Laird and Cara and Tendo and everyone, he hasn’t precisely had time to deal with this and try to understand it, and now there’s this; he’s not even being given a chance. It’s not fair. 

Somehow, reminding himself that life is not fair doesn’t really make him feel better. But he can still try. He still has to try. Even if it is hopeless and unfair. Otherwise he’ll be angry at himself forever. And at least- At least he’ll go into this knowing what to expect. And then it will all be over, at least.

He wants to tell Alison, ask Alison for help, but that simply reminds himself of how he snapped at them yesterday, and he sinks lower in his seat and shuts his eyes. The noises of the bus, that had faded away, rush back in, louder and stronger than ever, every sharp sound forcing it’s way in, chaotic and too loud, too much, and he’s angry, angry at everyone who is so loud when he wants to be alone, wants quiet, wants to think; angry at himself. He always ruins everything. How can he ask Alison for help after that? That was such a foolish thing to do, to yell at his only friend, and Alison was really only trying to help, he does know that. They had no way of knowing that saying that would be upsetting to him. And it’s...it’s true, isn’t it? He should stand up for himself more. 

He needs to make up with Alison, he needs to apologize. He hates apologizing, because he hates being wrong and apologizing means admitting you were wrong. He’s wrong all the time, he keeps ruining everything, but he hates admitting it. Just thinking about it makes a dull pulse of resentment throb through him. Mostly at himself, but a little bit at Alison too, because it really _wasn’t_ fair of them to tell him to just stand up to himself, and he is so tired of being told things like that. Especially when he knows he’ll just keep being a coward. 

Stop being such a coward. 

He’s been staring at his phone without moving long enough that the screen has gone dark. He turns it back on, brings up the text from Newt, and types out a reply, hitting “send” before he can think about it. 

_Yes, we can talk tomorrow._

 

 

It’s not precisely easy to study, or to sleep well, when his mind constantly returns to the text from Newt and what to expect of the upcoming conversation. He finds himself pulling his phone out of his pocket every few minutes to read the text over, as if it’ll say something different or he’ll find different meaning it. But it doesn’t change. “We should talk.” It can’t possibly be anything good. 

At least his only exams left are maths and physics, those classes are so easy for him that he suspects he’d breeze through the finals even if he didn’t study. There are worse things to be distracted for. But he still cares enough about the classes to study as much as he can force himself to. And it’ll all be over tomorrow, that’s a comforting thought. No more school for a few months, no more worrying about avoiding people in the halls, no more studying, no more Laird (maybe he’ll move away over the summer, maybe he’ll finally do something illegal and be sent to jail), and no more being uncertain of the situation with Newt. He doesn’t know if anything of these things will be resolved for the better but at least, for now, they’ll be done. After that he only has to endure one more year of high school, and then he can go to college, and that will be better, surely college will be better. 

He still can’t stop himself from checking his phone, reading the text again and again and again. He reads it when he takes breaks from studying, he reads it before he goes to bed, he reads it again when he can’t fall asleep, he reads it when he wakes up in the morning, he reads it on the bus ride to school, he reads it in the quiet corner of the hall he’s hiding in before class starts-

“Aw, how precious, you texting your boyfriend, Gottlieb?”

Every muscle in his body locks up at once, except for his heart, which starts fluttering like a fragile, trapped thing. He puts his phone away in his pocket slowly, and looks up to see Laird looming over him, a smirk on his face. 

It feels sort of inevitable. Of course. It’s the last day, and it surely wouldn’t be _right_ for him to end the year without one more unpleasant run in with him. Is he going to hit him? Again? Right before school starts, literally in the hallways? Yes, they are out of the way in a quieter corner - in the misguided hope that no one would find him here, how silly - but it’s still right in the middle of school?

And he’s just going to take it again, isn’t he. Like he always does. _You have to stand up to people like that_. He’s too cowardly. _Bullies only go after cowards, Hermann_. But he is. He’s a coward. He’s always a coward. 

He discovers that he’s very very angry. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he says. 

Laird scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Is that the best you can do? That’s pathetic. I saw you kissing him, you fa-”

“Yes, yes, of course we were kissing,” Hermann interrupts contemptuously. He stands with his spine drawn up straight, his chin tilted back to stare coolly into Laird’s face. Everything is very quiet and calm, as if the noise of students trickling into the school has faded to somewhere faraway, and Hermann knows exactly what is going to happen here, what he’s going to say and what Laird is going to do, and he’s far too angry, a hard, calculated anger, to stop. He’ll prove everyone wrong, and to hell with what happens. “But he isn’t my boyfriend. You don’t need to be in a relationship with someone to kiss them, or are you too ignorant to even know that? Do you need me to explain it to you, I’ll make sure to use small words. You see, I hardly even know _him_ , I just like kissing _him_ , I just like-”

Laird hits Hermann so hard that the back of Hermann’s head hits the wall behind him; it’s a rather curious sensation, pain slamming in from both in front and behind, and both so immediate and raw that neither quite feels like pain, yet, just sensation, a burst of feeling that blocks out the rest of the world and doesn’t entirely make sense. 

His knees buckle but he doesn’t fall down, and he’s so distracted by the pain of his head, the wet, sticky feeling on his face - oh, blood, his nose is bleeding - to realize that that is because Laird is physically holding him up, clutching at his shirt. Hermann is reminded that Laird is quite a lot bigger than him. Taller and heavier and certainly more muscular, and he looks very angry, and, oh, now it is starting to hurt, his head is really starting to hurt. 

But the anger is still there, cold and sharp inside of him, strangely satisfied, like- there, is that good enough for you? I stood up for myself and now he’s really going to hurt me, there, are you pleased? He’s not entirely sure who he means by “you.” Maybe himself.

“You’re disgusting-” Laird is hissing, “You little freak-” 

Hermann smiles at him, except it’s more like a snarl, “At least I’m better than you-”

He says more, but he sort of loses track of what he said after Laird hits him again. It must have been bad enough, though, whatever it was, because Laird seems to be hitting rather harder than usual. Hermann is impressed, in a vague, distant sort of way. After all, Laird usually hits hard enough. Laird lets go of his shirt a little after - to hit him better, he supposes - and Hermann’s legs immediately give way and send him crumpling to the ground. Probably better. He can at least take a sort of defensive posture, curl up around himself and put his arms over his head. He’s trying to- think of anything else- something very far away from here and now and pain- Deneb is the farthest star still visible to human sight- And really he’s half expecting, so much as he is capable of expecting anything, that Laird will leave him alone now, consider himself victorious, as he certainly is, but instead something hard connects with his ribs, and he feels something sort of. Crack. Inside him. 

He’s broken a rib or two before. He’s fairly certain they break again now. He cries out for the first time, helplessly, a strangled sob that he is somehow, under the pain, or maybe above it, far above, a plane far above all this, way far away with Deneb, he is somehow ashamed of himself for crying out. 

And he’s afraid. 

Maybe he pushed it too far this time. There are reasons not to do things like this- not to take risks- It really hurts- He’s afraid- the farthest star- think of that, don’t be scared, don’t listen to the things Laird is saying-

Rather abruptly, there is a different sound; a harsh voice, thick with fury, snarling, “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing!” and movements. Movements _away_ from him. That’s strange, isn’t it? Hermann is having a hard time making his thoughts connect to each other, as if he’s broken down into two parts, a body and a self that is far away among stars, and the two are almost entirely seperate. 

Then sounds coming closer to him, footsteps, and he tries to curl up tighter even though it hurts, except then someone says his name, not angrily, not with disgust, but worried, frantic almost, “Hermann, Hermann, are you okay?” 

It’s a nice voice. A familiar voice. He cautiously cracks his aching eyes open. “Alison?” he says hoarsely. 

Alison is kneeling on the ground at his side, hands fluttering helplessly over him, eyes wide with an uncertainty that looks unfamiliar and out of place on them. He’s not quite sure how Alison got here. “Are you okay- that’s stupid, of course you aren’t- Oh god, I’m gonna _kill_ that bastard-”

It takes him a few seconds to put the things he can see - at an odd sort of angle, considering he’s lying on the ground - together into a coherent image. It’s not that his eyes are out of focus or that he’s dizzy, he’d be worried if that was the case, but that it’s difficult and unpleasant to drag his thoughts back from where they are scattered across space. He’s shaking, not his body but his mind, or perhaps his emotions; nothing is making sense and the whole world seems simultaneously hyper detailed and real, and far away and disconnected, as if he really were watching from Deneb. He wishes he was. 

But Alison is kneeling on the floor next to him, now looking as if they can’t decide whether to cry or to hit someone or to do both; behind her, against the wall on the other side of the hall, is Laird, white faced and appalled; and looming over him, fury emanating from every line of his body, speaking in a low, harsh voice, is a tall, red haired man, that after several seconds of delay Hermann realizes is Mr. Hansen. 

Oh. He’s been...rescued? 

“What happened?” he manages to say, and realizes he can probably uncurl from his defensive posture. If he can move, that is. 

Simply attempting to remove his hands from over his head triggers a slightly sickening wave of pain - oh, god, he always responds to high levels of pain by getting nauseated, please don’t let that happen now - down his side, particularly on his ribs and on the skin over his stomach. He holds back a moan and decides to not try sitting up yet. He thinks he _can_ move. He just doesn’t want to. 

“That should be my question- Oh god, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he says, although he’s not entirely sure that’s true yet. The pain seems to be getting worse by the second, he supposes the shock of everything actually happening blocked it out a bit, and he’s starting to shake, actually, physically shake, and he hasn’t even tried to move his leg yet. “What happened?” he repeats, and his voice is shaking too, and sort of hoarse, and he doesn’t like that. 

“I was- I was looking for you, and I saw- And I didn’t- I wanted to help but I-” 

He understands, suddenly, what Alison is getting at, and at least part of why they look so distressed, as if the urge to cry has become stronger than the anger. Alison saw and wanted to help but didn’t know how; Alison is even shorter than Hermann, would certainly have had no chance against Laird, and would probably just have gotten themselves hurt too if the had tried to directly interfere, and so instead had gone for help. But now, after, they are clearly feeling guilty about it. As if they ran away, Hermann supposes.

“It’s okay,” he says, and it is, he’s just glad, a clean sort of relief that goes through him and does a little something to clear away the trembling fear inside him, that Alison didn’t get hurt too. 

They nod, a little unconvinced, and go on with, “So I went and got Mr. Hansen. Hermann, I- I don’t know what to say- I’m so sorry!” 

“That was the most reasonable thing to have done,” Hermann insists, and decides to try sitting up. 

His head spins and his stomach lurches extremely alarmingly and all of that is drowned out by the blaze of pain in his side, but at least- at least his leg doesn’t hurt any more than he would have expected it to. He still can’t hold back a hissed, “Ow, fuck-” and for several seconds the world fades away, is centered around only him hunched over the pain, breathing raggedly. He’s a little afraid it won’t recede. It doesn’t, always. Sometimes pain just goes on and on, for hours, he can remember times like that- But not this time, the pain begins to ebb into an ugly throb that is nonetheless bearable. 

When it does, and he can look up and around and try to assure Alison that he’s okay again, he finds that Mr. Hansen is now kneeling over him. Looking very angry. He has to resist shrinking back in on himself for a moment. It’s going to happen all over again, he’s going to get blamed for it all, isn’t he? And his father will be _so angry_. 

But Hansen only says, “Are you okay?” and then proceeds to interrogate him about his injuries and try to ascertain if he’s sustained head trauma - which Hermann is fairly sure he hasn’t, he’s been concussed before and this isn’t nearly so bad, his nose is really the worst of it in regards to his head - and then ask him if he thinks he can stand up. 

Standing up isn’t as bad as he expected. That is, it is rather bad, and he does have to have to be helped up by Alison; but his leg only feels as bad as he would expect from lying curled up on the cold ground, and he’s only a little bit dizzy, and his ribs don’t feel like they are grating around in him like they did that time he broke them even though they are throbbing, and although his stomach heaves, he doesn’t actually throw up. That’s the best part. So, really, not so bad. He mostly only needs to keep leaning on Alison because he’s shaking so hard. 

“Office,” Hansen says, jerking his head at Laird, a bit of a growl in his voice. 

Hermann sighs and thinks he might be dreading this next part nearly as much as Laird looks like he is. He’d almost rather that Alison hadn’t gotten help. But he touches his fingers tenderly to his nose still streaming blood - he must be coated - and decides that he’d only _almost_ rather that.


	11. Experiment Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really like Dietrich.

Dietrich is waiting in the office when Hermann returns there at the end of the day. (End of the semester. The year. Thank god, finally.) His back is to Hermann’s, talking to a receptionist, and he could almost mistake him for his father, except that Dietrich is thinner, lean instead of broad shouldered; and, of course, his father is out of state, and could not possibly have made it here in this time period, whereas Dietrich lives only about an hour’s drive away. Still, Hermann stops in the doorway for an instant, startled, before realizing his father must have directed the school to call Dietrich. He is legally an adult. He grimly goes the rest of the way in. 

Waiting in one of the seats in the office is a tall, worn out looking woman who looks as if she can’t quite decide whether to be furious or resigned; Hermann is sure she must be Laird’s mother the second he lays eyes on her. She has the same hard face that must have been handsome when she was younger. Hermann wonders if Dietrich is as obviously related to him. 

A moment later, Dietrich turns around and sees him. He sucks in a shocked gasp and immediately strides across the room to bend over and closely examine his face, a display of emotionality for him that in another person would be akin to shouting and perhaps throwing things. Hermann really must look dreadful. Dietrich normally limits his emotional expression to minute twitches of his mouth and eyebrows that can only be read by...well, probably only Karla and Hermann and Bastien. People not related to him often assume that Dietrich doesn’t even have emotions. 

Hermann scowls and looks away. 

“ _What on Earth happened_?” Dietrich says in a low voice, in German. They are all bilingual, the four of them, but Hermann and Karla are probably the only ones totally equally comfortable in each language. Dietrich prefers German, even still has a hint of a German accent, and Bastian is better at English (and has an accent half between British and American). 

“ _Didn’t they tell you_?” Hermann says unhelpfully. He’s tired, dreadfully tired, and although he thinks now he wasn’t so badly hurt as he’d originally been afraid of - the nurse had let him go take his exams, to his great and eternal relief, so he really must be fine - he is still in pain, still suspecting his rib is at least cracked if not properly fractured, embarrassed and unhappy about all of this, even if for once they don’t seem to be blaming it on him, and although _Dietrich_ being here is better than his father, it’s still one of the very last things Hermann wants. 

“ _They told me some of it, but not the whole story, I suspect...I’d like to hear your side of it_.” 

He finds that unlikely. Dietrich is nearly as disinclined to listen to Hermann as their father. And nearly as likely to not like what he hears, in this particular instance. Hermann remembers how Dietrich reacted when the bullying was particularly bad when he was twelve. Or rather, how he didn’t react. Never did or said a word about it. He’s not expecting this to be any different. 

It’s not like _Dietrich_ was ever bullied in school. He may not have been popular, precisely, probably too reserved for that, too standoffish and quiet, but he was clever and good looking and good at sports, so he certainly wasn’t unpopular either. He had friends and dated quiet, good looking, sporty girls and went to parties on Fridays but always came home before curfew, perfectly sober. Whenever Hermann had troubles with school - or anything - Dietrich always told him that if he would just listen to Father everything would be fine. He didn’t understand, and Hermann doubts he’ll understand now, or even try to. 

“ _I don’t know what else there is to say_ ,” Hermann says, the words brittle, and folds his arms across his chest even though it hurts just to touch the place that Laird kicked him. 

“Hermann-” Dietrich says, in that particular exasperated way of his, falling on the second syllable, very knowing and adult and older brother, as if Hermann were still a child, a little boy hiding shyly behind his brother when strangers came to the house. But before he can complete the thought, whatever it would be, something over Hermann’s shoulder catches his eyes, and he straightens up and wipes his face clean of any expression, except for a thinning of his mouth. 

Hermann half turns, but he already knows that it’s going to be Laird, as indeed it is, trailed shortly after by Mr. Hansen. A second of childish smugness flashes through Hermann when he realizes that his brother is taller than Laird (although perhaps lighter weight). He hastily attempts to smother this feeling, but it doesn’t help that Laird is looking pleasingly sullen and even slightly ashamed, and his mother is looking between Laird and Hermann and deciding to be furious. It’s probably obvious just to look that no fight between the two of them could possibly be a fair one. 

Then...Well, there’s the horrible and inescapable ordeal of having to troop into the principal’s office and _talk_ about this. Hermann mostly sits silent with his hands clenched into his lap, Dietrich beside him, face unchanging except for his mouth, which gets harder and narrower as the conversation goes on. Hermann can’t quite tell who he is angry at. 

The worst of it is when Laird, as expected, attempts to claim that Hermann _started_ it (he can’t decide if this is true or not. He certainly made it worse, by saying those things - what on earth came over him? - but he’s sure that Laird came up to him in the first place to, at the very least, harass him), and that Laird was only defending himself (certainly not true). He’s so sure that everyone is going to believe him, just like always, that he digs his short nails into his palms in brutal preparation, bracing himself. 

But Mr. Hansen interrupts rudely, saying, “That’s absolute crap.”

Everyone looks at him in surprise, even Hermann. 

“I’ve had Gottlieb in my class, I’ve never had such a rule-following kid in my life-” This, somehow, doesn’t sound entirely complimentary, and Hermann squirms, “-he’d never dream of starting a fight. Besides, what I saw, that sure as hell wasn’t a fair fight, that was entirely one sided, _against_ Gottlieb, absolutely not a fair fight, and I have a witness to that; and I also have reason to suspect Laird’s been harassing him all semester, I doubt this was the first time this happened, although maybe the first time to this extreme.” 

“ _Tim_ ,” his mother says. There’s a tone of weary resignation and disappointment in her voice that, oddly, has Hermann sympathizing with Laird for a moment.

A moment that is ruined when Laird says resentfully, “He provoked me!” 

“How so?” the principal asks, tapping one hot pink nail - the only thing at all personal about her appearance - on her desk.

Hermann and Laird both _look_ at each other, and Hermann’s blood runs cold, knowing the capacity to which Laird could ruin him in this moment. Just by speaking the truth. Because of course Dietrich would tell Dad. And- he’s been trying dreadfully hard to not think about this particular aspect of things, but know that he’s stopped repressing part of the truth, it’s hard to repress any of it, and he knows that his father will not be accepting of this. Certainly unsympathetic that _this_ is why Hermann has been bullied. 

And that’s disregarding how the school will take it, which Hermann is entirely uncertain of. The administration is not overtly homophobic, but there has certainly been no gestures of sympathy or understanding in the past, no GSA or so on, no mention of the existence of sexual or gender identities other than straight or cis in health class, no rules forbidding discrimination or harassment based on those things. If Laird tells the truth, perhaps the school will decide he _was_ provoked and that Hermann is to blame and he’ll be the one in trouble after all. 

Laird looks at Hermann, looks at Hermann’s brother, looks at Mr. Hansen, looks at his mother, and looks away with an ugly frown and doesn’t say a word. 

Hermann doesn’t sigh in relief or relax his shoulders or any of that, because he feels intensely as if he is being watched, and to do any of that would surely indicate guilt on his part. 

“I see,” the principal says frostily. 

It’s all formalities after that. It’s the end of the school year so there isn’t exactly much they can do, but there lots of stern talk about how this sort of behavior isn’t tolerated (Hermann does _not_ scoff) and how it won’t happen again, and they make Laird apologize to him. He doesn’t enjoy this at all. There’s a hot gleam in Laird’s eye that makes Hermann sure this isn’t the last of it. He already dreads next year. But at least they let him leave after that, finally, although they make Laird wait longer. 

Dietrich and Hermann walk through the halls of the school silently. Hermann thinks about how another person would be nostalgic, in the halls of their old school, might want to stop by to say hello to old teachers; but Dietrich is all business, walking with eyes ahead at all times, taking the shortest path to the doors that lead to the parking lot. Hermann just wants to go home, so on the one hand he’s grateful, but- On days like this, days that have been relentlessly bad, he gets this restless, frustrated feeling inside him, like his skin is itching from the inside, and then anything can, and usually will, be irritating, as if he’s simply looking for an excuse to be angry. And so it angers him that Dietrich is so cold, callous, even as he knows that really he isn’t, that it’s simply in his nature to not show that sort of emotion.

They hit the outer doors and break through into hot, thick sunlight, bouncing off the stretches of concrete and asphalt and drenched with humidity; Hermann is blinking so hard that he doesn’t notice for a moment that Dietrich has stopped and is looking at him intently. He barely stops shy of walking into him. 

“ _We need to put ice on that_ ,” Dietrich says and after a beat Hermann realizes he means his nose, and probably his black eye. “ _And you’re walking strangely, did that_ -” He pauses oddly, a sharp cutoff of his words, and for a shocked instant Hermann thinks he’s going to swear. Dietrich never curses. But he only says, “- _that boy hurt your leg? Do you need me to take you to a doctor_?” 

He is walking oddly, but it’s mostly due to his ribs, so he says irritably, not bothering to switch to German, “No, I’m just sore, that’s all. I’m fine.” He’s not even positive his rib is broken, and anyway, he knows from experience that there’s not much doctors can do for a broken rib. Besides, he really, really hates hospitals. 

Dietrich stares narrowly at him a moment longer, probably trying to ascertain if he’s lying, then straightens. “I don’t understand. That teacher says this has happened before. Why didn’t you tell anyone?” 

“I don’t need help, I can deal with it on my own,” Hermann insists. 

“Do you call _this_ dealing with it?” he says thunderously, and it’s odd, because Dietrich physically resembles their father most of the four of them, with his light hair and height and hard features, a resemblance that is normally most apparent when he’s angry; but in this moment, Hermann can’t help but think he’s never resembled him less. It’s his eyes maybe, normally such a pale shade of blue as to look colorless as ice. Now they are flashing with an unexpected heat that Hermann is certain he’s never seen on his father. 

He’s surprised and draws back instinctively, but he’s not intimidated the way he would be with his father. Instead he clenches his hands into fists and says furiously, “Well, who was I supposed to tell? It’s not like _you_ could do anything, and Karla doesn’t even come home anymore so why would I tell her, and the school usually does nothing or blames _me_ , and I could- I could hardly tell Dad, he’d just- just be be angry with me, you know he would! So I dealt with it my own way, that’s the best I could do even if it wasn’t _good enough_ -” 

And he chokes off and the shaking feeling that had taken half an hour of focusing on his maths exam to fade away comes back and, horribly, his eyes sting and there’s a pulling sensation in his chest, like- like he’s going to cry. It’s so unfair. He was so scared. Everything is so unfair. 

“Do you have to tell Dad about this?” he says miserably. 

Dietrich’s shoulders slump, and the heat goes out of his face, although he still looks less frigid than usual. “The school called him, you know,” he says gently, and Hermann does know that. “But I’ll talk him down, I’ll make it clear none of it is your fault, I promise.” 

“Ah- R-really?” he asks, surprised.

“Of course,” Dietrich says, as if there wasn’t even any other option, as if he didn’t normally take Lars’s side. “I know he’s not always...reasonable about this sort of thing. But I’m sure he’ll see sense.” 

Hermann is more than dubious about it - _he’s_ not even sure that he agrees it wasn’t his fault, he did provoke Lars, although he finds now that he was so overwhelmed by fury in that moment that he can’t entirely remember what he said - but he nods, and after a moment Dietrich says, “I’m parked over here,” and they resume walking, Dietrich walking slowly enough that he doesn’t outstrip Hermann. 

His car is just like him, a small, nondescript silver sedan, slightly older, bought second hand (with his own money), dented and scratched in a few spots, but scrupulously clean, inside and out. The sort of car that is easily lost in a parking lot, that you’d never look at twice, but that lasts forever and will go for countless miles with simple upkeep. Hermann says suddenly, as they climb in, “I’m sorry you had to come, I hope you don’t get in trouble at your internship.” 

“It’s perfectly fine, you needn’t worry about that,” Dietrich says with a dismissive wave of his hand.  
“And- You know, you _could_ have told me. I’d have figured out something.” 

“Of course,” Hermann says, hard edged with disbelief, bitterness. “You were so terribly helpful the last time this happened, after all.”

Dietrich’s eyes are fixed on the road as he drives, he’s a very safe driver - of course - and he says calmly, “I don’t remember his name anymore, but one of those boys bothering you in middle school, he had an older brother that went to high school with me. He let me borrow his laptop once. I put a virus on it, and made it very clear it would only be fixed if his brother never touched you again, and did his best to make sure none of his friends did either. It seemed pretty effective. Of course, I couldn’t do the same now, but...I’d have figured something out.” 

Hermann sits up straighter. Stares at him. He’d think he’s joking, only, Dietrich doesn’t really joke very much, certainly not like this, and there’s no trace of humor on his face, only serene satisfaction. And Dietrich would, technically speaking, be capable of what he just described. He’s always been talented at computers, he’s a comp sci major, and he was the first one to start to teach Hermann programming. Only- A virus- This is _Dietrich_ -

“Wha- What?” he splutters. 

“Well, it wasn’t like I was going to fight him, that’s what Karla wanted to do but Dad would certainly have disapproved of that, and besides, it’s hardly the most efficient solution. And I know how it hurts your pride to be helped, I thought it would just be adding insult to injury to tell you I’d done this, so I didn’t mention it. But it’s not like I was just going to stand by, honestly, Herms, what do you expect?” 

He’s too shocked to even protest the old childish nickname. “I didn’t expect you to put a _virus_ on someone’s computer! You- You always- You always do what Dad says!”

“And when has he ever said, ‘don’t put a virus on someone’s computer’?” Dietrich asks, and by god, Hermann thinks there’s a trace of smugness in his voice. He stares at Dietrich as if he’s never seen him before, and he rather feels as if he hasn’t. 

“That’s what you and Karla have never understood, what I’ve always been trying to tell you,” Dietrich continues. “It’s so much easier to deal with Dad when you don’t directly disobey him, when you seem to do what he tells you; there’s plenty of leeway, but the two of you are so stubborn- and you’re so stubborn that you always insist on doing things your own way. Mind, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, but it’s not the best way to deal with Dad. It’s much easier to just do as he says and then do what you like the rest of the time. Honestly, by now he hardly even pays attention to _me_ ; not that he ever really did.” This last part is said with the tiniest of an ironic twist to his mouth. 

Hermann rarely feels as if he can’t keep up with a conversation. Indeed, he’s rather more used to people not being able to keep up with _him_. But right now he can only gape and repeat blankly, “A virus?”

Dietrich simply nods. 

At last, Hermann finds his voice enough to demand, “Does Karla know you’ve secretly been- manipulating us all this whole time?”

“It’s not exactly manipulating,” he protests. “I just understand how Dad thinks, that’s all.”

“Virus!”

“Oh, well, I suppose you could call that manipulation. But it was for a good cause! Anyway, Karla doesn’t listen to a word I say, you know that.” 

“You _suppose_ \- You know that is illegal, don’t you?” 

Dietrich takes a hand off the wheel long enough to wave it dismissively. Hermann finds that he is rather indignant to discover that he is more of a rule follower than his perfect, obedient, kiss-ass older brother. 

“Has Karla really not come home at all?” Dietrich asks after a moment. 

Hermann sinks down into his chair again and turns his face to look out the window, hiding a slight frown. “No.”

Now that he’s no longer hiding things from himself, he can admit that he does - a little - miss her. Ordinarily, he would have told her about something like this. Not just the bullying, but probably the issues with Tendo, and maybe even Newt. He’s not sure if he would have shared all of it, but...maybe. Karla doesn’t think at all like him, isn’t at all like him, and yet, she’s always been the one person he most trusts, the one that he felt came closest to understanding him, the person he could always trust to care for him. And now-

Dietrich doesn’t say anything more, but he shakes his head incrementally. Hermann wonders if he’s going to find out in a few days that he and Karla have had another one of their infamous blow out fights. Or perhaps Dietrich will just put a _virus_ on her computer and make her come home. 

His face is throbbing. So are his ribs. And somehow he’s sore all over, even in places he’s sure that Laird didn’t touch; he supposes vaguely it must be from going instinctively stiff during the fight, or a result of all the chemicals that must have been rushing through his system, or maybe just from lying on the cold, hard ground for however long it was. Either way, he just wants to go home and take a tylenol - his serious medications he stringently reserves for only severe leg pain - and try to turn off his brain for a while, because whenever he stops to think, whenever it goes quiet like it is right now, he sees the fury and disgust on Laird’s face, remembers how terrified he was, how much it hurt, how much it still hurts. They sent him to take his exams after he went to the office this morning because he insisted he was fine and that he could handle it, but he thinks now that the only reason he was able to handle it was because it was subjects he likes so much. There’s nothing like maths or physics (AP, which is even better) to focus his brain. Even then, in between questions, if he didn’t focus hard enough, the memories would come back and he’d start shaking. And he thinks he’s too tired now, mentally and physically and emotionally, for that tactic to work. Second best is just watching a familiar sci fi show, embarrassing as that is; he’ll lie down in bed and watch _Star Trek_ or _X Files_ , he decides, at least until his father comes home in the evening. 

That brings a different, unexpected thought to his mind, one he’s surprised he forgot. Newt. Oh. God. Today he’s supposed to talk to Newt. About… “the experiment.” He’s not sure when Newt is supposed to come over, not even entirely sure Newt knows that he has a half day today, but- He just can’t do it. He leans his face against the glass of the window, hoping it’ll be cool against his bruises, and decides that he has a perfectly good reason to put Newt off for a day or two and he’s utterly exhausted and cannot bear one more bad thing and he’s not being a coward, he just can’t do it, so he’ll text him and ask to talk tomorrow instead. Yes. He’ll do that.

The road, despite being a fairly decent one, is bumpy enough that leaning his face on the glass is more painful than soothing, and he straightens up again. 

It’s not that far from the school to his house. He only lives on the very edge of the range that the bus comes to. They spend most of the rest of the drive in relatively companionable silence, the radio playing on the very edge of the audibility, the strange electronic music that has always seemed a sort of odd fit for Dietrich, but which he nonetheless prefers, Hermann staring out the window at the identical suburban homes and green yards flashing by. He thinks he could almost fall asleep right now, but he’s fairly sure it’s such a short drive that it wouldn’t be worth it, so he keeps his eyes open and automatically starts counting things like mailboxes, red cars, the sort of silly game he used to play as a child, before he even knew that it was a little unusual that his mind could so easily sort the world into numbers and hold those perfectly in mind. He can still, without even pausing to think about it, remember exactly how many houses were between his home and elementary school back in Germany. 

They turn down their street, and Hermann is just deciding that maybe he’ll just go to bed when he gets home, when Dietrich says suddenly, “Who’s that?”

He turns to look in the same direction as Dietrich, and sees their house, and the person sitting on the front porch, a bike leaning up against it near him. He looks up tentatively as their car draws nearer, but Hermann would recognize him even if he had kept his head down. The messy brown hair, the short, stocky frame, and surely Hermann would know him regardless, would know _Newt_. 

His stomach can’t decide whether it would rather lurch or fall, but his heart is firmly set on beating too hard. “Oh,” he says. “That’s- my friend.” 

“That’s not Tendo,” Dietrich says, surprised. 

“I have more than one friend, you know,” Hermann says loudly. Why do people keep assuming he doesn’t? Well, admittedly, there were several years where Tendo was his only friend, but still. It’s rude. 

“Do you really? Good for you, Herms.”

“Don’t call me that.” 

The car turns into the driveway, and Newt stands up and peers through the car’s window. An embarrassing flush of heat goes through his cheeks. He feels wide awake again. What’s Newt doing here? And with such an oddly concerned, wide eyed look. Hermann hasn’t texted him to not come over yet, but that’s because he wasn’t expecting Newt to be already waiting at his house. Dietrich parks, and Hermann - carefully, because just the car ride was enough for him to go stiff - climbs out of the car and walks around to where Newt is hovering uncertainly at the edge of the driveway. 

Newt gasps so loudly it might be comical, if it weren’t for the way he goes white and his hands fly up to cover his mouth, if it weren’t for the genuine distress in that gasp, when he sees Hermann’s face, and he covers the small space between them in a few strides, nearly running. 

“Oh, god, Hermann, fuck, are you okay? Oh my god, what happened, are you okay?” he says in a high, rapid squeak, reaching out as if he’d like to touch Hermann’s face, only stopping when there comes the sound of the car door shutting. Newt’s eyes flick over Hermann’s shoulder, presumably to where Dietrich is standing by the car, and back to Hermann. 

“I’m perfectly fine,” Hermann says, puzzled, and, “What are you doing here?”

“Alison texted me, said something bad had happened at school and you were hurt, I was worried! What happened?” 

He’s immediately sure this is some sort of conniving device on Alison’s part. It’s exactly the sort of thing they would do. He clicks his tongue, exasperated, wondering _why_ \- and looks again at Newt, who is- terrified, almost, looking more worried and upset than Hermann has ever seen him before, more than Hermann might have even thought he was capable of being, and he was this worried about...about _Hermann_? Just because he heard Hermann was hurt? Not even knowing how badly he might have been hurt, he was this worried? That he rushed over to his house and waited for him, and looks now as if he could almost cry, but also as if he’s relieved, to see that Hermann is in one piece? He was that worried?

Something unfolds inside him, like a seed putting out a single tendril, warm and strange; a trace of hope. Newt was worried about him. Newt was _this_ worried about him. And that must mean that he- that he- Hermann stops the thought before it can go any further, because despair is painful, but crushed hopes are even worse. 

“I’m fine,” he says again. “It’s just some bruises. There was...you know. Like before.”

“Jesus, Hermann. That’s- you look awful- I mean. Your bruises do, not you, obviously- Um...A-are you okay, are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” 

Dietrich clears his throat discreetly behind him. Newt looks at him again.

“Oh. Yes,” Hermann says. “This is my brother, Dietrich.” Newt’s mouth forms an understanding “O.” “And, Dietrich, this is- um- This is Newton Geiszler.” 

“Hi,” Newt says awkwardly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Dietrich says, utterly neutral in the worst way possible, the one that means he’s observing things and putting pieces together. But it’s not as if he could guess, could he? It’s not like it’s obvious. And what would happen if he did?

For the first time it occurs to Hermann to wonder how his family members _other_ than his father will react if - when? - they find out about his new discovered non-heterosexuality. Karla- Karla will surely be accepting, if only because Lars will not be and she refuses to agree with him on anything. He doubts Bastien would totally reject him, he’s simply too gentle to do something that harsh. As for Dietrich...before today, Hermann would have been less than optimistic about Dietrich. But after that peculiar conversation just now, he’s a little less certain. 

But it’s not as if he could figure it out just from looking at Hermann and Newt. That’s impossible. 

“If I leave now, I think I’ll be on time to pick Bas up from school,” Dietrich says abruptly. 

“Oh. Um, yes, that ought to be right,” Hermann says. 

Dietrich nods. “Don’t forget to put ice on that,” he says, gesturing toward Hermann’s face, and without further ado, turns around and gets back in the car.

“I won’t,” Hermann mutters, even though he doubts Dietrich can hear, because he hates being treated like a child. 

He and Newt stand quietly on the edge of the driveway, watching the small silver car pull out and away, and then Hermann says, “Ah- Would you like to come in?” 

Newt nods. 

It’s awkward now, as it wasn’t just a few seconds ago. Hermann is intensely nervous. It’s strange, all the different kind of fears there are. This doesn’t feel anything like his confrontation with Lars from this morning - only this morning, it already feels like a very long time ago - and yet it is fear, again, just a different kind. He wishes again to be brave. 

“So, um, that’s your other brother?” Newt asks as he follows Hermann up to the door around the side of the house, the one they use more often than the front door, and hovers at his shoulder, a little too close to be casual. “I can see the resemblance.” 

“Really? Normally people say we don’t look at all alike,” Hermann responds, getting the lock at last and leading Newt into the kitchen and from there to the hall that leads to his room. He knows this isn’t what they’re here to talk about, but he also doesn’t mind delaying. (But also does.) 

“I think you do,” Newt insists. “It’s your face, you’ve both got this look on your face like you’ve never been wrong in your whole life.” 

Hermann can’t decide whether to laugh or be offended. Dietrich does have a face like that, although those terms would have never occurred to him. But he doesn’t think _he_ looks like that. He settles for opening his bedroom door, saying, “Wait here,” and going back into the kitchen to get ice. He thinks the frozen pack of peas he used last time Laird blacked his eye is still in the freezer.

Newt, of course, follows him. Which is annoying, Hermann had wanted to try pressing the ice on his ribs for just a little bit, but he’d rather Newt doesn’t see. He’ll just kick up a fuss. 

“That looks really painful. Are you sure you’re okay?” Newt asks softly. 

“It hurts, but it’s really not that bad. You didn’t have to come,” Hermann says, and sighs gratefully as he puts the ice against his face. The cold stings his skin even through a washcloth, but it’s also intense relief, and he knows that the sting will fade as the skin numbs. He just wants it to stop throbbing. And to be able to blink without his eye hurting and feeling as if it doesn’t want to open back up. 

“Alison made it sound like you were really hurt. I was...I was really worried. And I mean- clearly you are really- God, what the fuck is wrong with people, what kind of a fucking asshole does that, I-” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “But I thought you were, like, I dunno, on death’s bed or something. And I know you probably don’t wanna talk about it, or whatever, but I was just really worried so I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

The warm, fragile thing in him spreads a little more. _Really worried_. Newt’s hands are curled into fists, as if he might hit Laird if he were here right now, and the image is sort of worrisome, considering the size disparity between Newt and Laird, but it also makes him feel sort of warm and soft and yet even more nervous, because what if he’s wrong? 

God. Feelings are horrible. 

He really wants to sit down. “I’m really fine,” he says again, and starts walking back to his bedroom. “I mean- this is a little worse than I’m used to, but Alison got a teacher before it could get really bad, so I really am fine.” 

It feels too good to sit down on his bed. He wants to melt down into it, suddenly exhausted again. This has been such a horrible day. Another delayed wave of fear hits him, unexpectedly. If Alison hadn’t come when she did...he’s not sure if Laird would have stopped. Maybe he won’t, next time. At least that’s months away. 

His leg lets out a throb of pain when he puts it up on his bed, and he hides a wince. 

Or maybe doesn’t, because Newt, stopped in the doorway, says, “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Hermann. I- I know I said I wanted to talk today, but, I mean, this is clearly not a good time, dude, so, uh, I can wait.” 

That’s exactly what he wanted just a little while ago. Yet a little jolt goes through him, sharp and unpleasant. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. He wants to know. He wants to know now. After all, he’s already been beat up once twice today, why not again. Better than having the slow dread of waiting, better than having the pain later. He’d rather have everything bad happen at once, if that’s how it’s going to be. 

And if he stood up to Laird, then he can certainly do something- something _silly_ like tell Newt his feelings. 

“No. I’d rather not wait. Now is fine. I- I have something I want to say too.” 

“Oh, um, okay,” Newt says. He’s tugging on the edge of his shirt - a worn, green t-shirt with a picture of the Hulk that makes his eyes look bright green - rumpling the fabric in his hands and then smoothing it out again, and bouncing on the balls of his feet, and Hermann wonders if he’s nervous too. He doesn’t know what that means. 

Newt looks out of place in Hermann’s bedroom, his green shirt and tight blue jeans too bright against the white walls, hair too messy for the clean surfaces, everything about him too loud, too unstill, as if that’s why he’s staying in the doorway. As if he can’t come in. Hermann hates that, suddenly, hates his room, his quiet, white room, that isn’t really like him at all, because if he’d been allowed to make his room like the way he likes, instead of the way his father wants it to be, then maybe Newt wouldn’t look like he doesn’t belong here. Or maybe he would. 

Newt swallows hard and advances in a step further, then stops again. The silence feels like a physical thing between them, a pane of glass, and once it shatters, it will stay shattered. Hermann’s not sure which of them is supposed to speak first, if Newt is waiting for him or if he’s waiting for Newt or if they are both just waiting, if this silence could last forever, a sheet of glass between them always. That’s what will happen if he doesn’t confess now, he’s suddenly sure of that. There will always be something between them. 

“I-”

“About-”

They both start and stop at nearly the same moment. Newt laughs nervously. “You go first,” Hermann says. 

He twists his shirt harder. Hermann is a little worried about the fabric. “About the experiment. Um. I- I think we should end it.” 

It’s nearly as blunt and forceful an impact as Laird hitting him this morning. Hermann stays very still and doesn’t breathe for several seconds. The glass is surely shattered now. 

He hadn’t expected anything different. He’s not sure why he’s shocked. 

Newt fidgets harder. If he bounces with any more energy, he’ll simply be jumping up and down in place. “I-”

“I was wrong,” Hermann interrupts. Again like this morning - as if everything is playing out again, only now it’s on the emotional field rather than the physical - he’s amazed at how calm he sounds. The only sign of his distress is a slight breathlessness. And indeed, it’s a little hard to breathe with his painful ribs. “I should go first.” 

“What?” Newt says, and he stops bouncing, just for a second. 

It’s going to sound so terribly stupid if he confesses his feelings _after_ Newt explains that he’s not interested in this arrangement anymore and doesn’t want to see Hermann again. It’s going to sound stupid anyway, no matter what, regardless, he’s going to lose, Newt wants to go and he will go, Newt is the sort of person who does what he puts his mind to, but this is his only chance to say it, right now. And he’s going to. He is also the sort of person who does what he puts his mind to. 

“I think we should end the experiment too.”

Oh, he sounds so marvellously calm, which is odd when his heart is beating so hard he can feel it pushing at his skin, and the world is sort of warping, everything except Newt going out of focus, and he wants desperately to turn his eyes away, but knows he mustn’t. Newt’s mouth is slightly open. 

“Because,” Hermann continues, “I. I’ve figured out why I reacted the way I did to you, that first time, and all the other times too. I understand my feelings now.” 

“Oh. Y-you do?” 

Hermann’s surprised he has any adrenaline left in his system, but what else can it be, that feeling like every nerve within him is vibrating? Fight or flight, except, once again, neither of those are really an option. 

“Yes. It’s because-” 

The world sort of stops for a moment, because he doesn’t have the words for this. He’s not any good with words. Words aren’t any good. They aren’t enough, they do not suffice to convey the absolute truth and meaning of things, the basic functionings of the universe, and they certainly can’t describe his damn _feelings_ , not when he barely understands those himself. Only, he has to explain, he needs to.

Start from the beginning. Just like doing a maths problem. Start from the beginning. And what is the beginning?

“It’s like you said the other day,” he says suddenly. “When you called me. I know you said you don’t want to talk about that, but- What you said, about feeling as if there is a version of you that everyone expects you to be. And you aren’t that person. I feel like that too sometimes. There’s a version of me that people expect me to be, and I- The thing is, I want to be that person too.”

His voice breaks, incrementally, and he has to stop, because it hurts all over again, because he wants to be that person, and he’s not, and he never will be. He tries to take a deep breath, but it hurts too much. 

“I try very hard to be that person, to live up to that, but I can’t always. And- When that happens, when there’s something that I don’t like about myself but can’t change, I...I think I usually just do my best to hide it from everyone, even from myself. Like the- the bullying. I was angry when you asked me about that because I’m-”

Newt’s eyes are fixed on Hermann’s face, and he has, at last, stopped moving. 

He tries and fails again to take a deep breath.

It’s good that it’s so quiet in his house because his voice falls almost to a whisper here. 

“I’m ashamed. That that happens to me. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, let alone you or anyone else. And- I think, I think I’m fairly good at hiding some of the things I don’t want to see from myself. You- You were one of those things.”

“Me?” Newt says, as if he’d forgotten that was even what they were talking about. 

“I noticed you at that party. I- I very much noticed you. And then, when we played that silly game, and you k-kissed me, I was so upset because- Because I wasn’t. Because I was, I enjoyed it. And all the other times we kissed too. But I couldn’t admit that to myself because the person I’m supposed to be wouldn’t, and I’d been trying so hard for so long to not notice that part of myself- Not because I think that’s wrong, you understand, but because- Of other people’s expectations, you know- My father would- My father _will_ be very disappointed. So I was trying to change that part of myself, or ignore it, only then there was you, and maybe if it was only that I was attracted to you, maybe if it was just kissing I could have gone on pretending it wasn’t anything really, except then-”

His voice fails again.

“Then what?” Newt says in a low voice.

“I liked kissing you,” Hermann says, almost despairingly, everything feeling very hopeless. “But I also liked talking to you, and arguing with you, I liked spending time with you, I like-”

The words, so hard to say, now seem to simply fall out of his mouth. 

“-you. I like you a lot.”


	12. An Alternate Hypothesis, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt's greatest passions in life: Biology, science fiction, music, kissing. 
> 
> That should pretty much explain the entirety of his motivations, to be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, a week or so ago I wrote out a shortish explanation of why this is taking so long and how much longer I think it will take on my blog, [here](http://tsunderescientists.tumblr.com/post/116434153386/hypothesis-update-if-anyone-cares-more-for-one).
> 
> Some notes about aspects of this work that have been brought to my attention: It has been pointed out to me that I misrepresented the education system and that most likely a student would not get off as easily as Laird did. I apologize. I have a tendency toward melodrama, I'm sorry it made me make a negative portrayal of school administration.  
> Secondly, as to the negativity about the college experience in this work...I think that if you are someone who has a hard time in high school - as I'm sure most people indeed do - and you intend to go to college, you are told that "college will be better." You may have noticed that is not the message of this work. I don't wish to scare teenagers off of college or anything like that. I am sure that for the majority of people, college is better and is a wonderful experience. However, as a junior in university, that is not my experience (not for exactly the same reasons as Newt). I wanted to portray the fact that for some people, it isn't. 
> 
> Sorry for the horribly long notes, that's another one of my bad author tendencies. Here's the story.

Newt goes to the party mostly because Tendo asks him and he likes Tendo. Not, you know, _likes_ him, although he did wonder at first, when they met at that other party a few months ago and hit it off and made out a little bit, and not just because they were both a little tipsy. Tendo’s a good kisser, an excellent kisser, and cute and nerdy, so Newt will admit he briefly had some hopes. But then when they were done kissing Tendo started talking non-stop about someone named Alison and his eyes went sorta misty and soft when he talked about this person, and Newt was not quite so foolish - not anymore, at least - to crush on someone who was interested in someone else, so he settled for friendship. He doesn’t have many friends, somehow, so that’s pretty good too. 

But he also goes to the party because nearly a complete year of college in, he’s decided that college kids are the absolute worst and that he’d really just like to spend some time with kids his own age. Sure, high schoolers are juvenile and boring and ignorant, but college kids, so far as he can tell, are most of those things, but also stuck up and competitive and manipulative, and even though he spent all of high school longing to get out, now he finds himself wanting back in. (Well, only a little bit. Not back into the parts with annoying teachers and bullies and cliques and everyone laughing at you if you sit alone at lunch. But the other parts. He’s pretty sure there were some good parts.)

Besides, Tendo’s friends are bound to be cool, right? Because Tendo is cool, but also a huge nerd, so probably anyone he’d be friends with, Newt would get along with too, or so he reasons. Plus, he’s dying to finally meet Alison, after hearing so much about them. So. Much. 

So he goes to the party.

It’s not great. It’s not bad (at first), but it’s not great. He’s a little more used to college parties now, the college parties that he absolutely, faithfully promised his father he would _never ever_ go to, and this seems sort of quiet and small in comparison, almost childish, although it is only a birthday party in Tendo’s basement, so he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Tendo’s friends are nice, but a more varied crowd than he expected - at least one of the boys is a freshman, and it’s weird for Newt to feel _old_ rather than young at a party - so that after only a half hour or so, the by now familiar feeling of being out of place creeps in under his skin. He despises that feeling. Sometimes, especially at parties, he tries to make it go away by drinking a little too much, dancing too energetically, flirting too hard. Trying too hard. He always seems to be trying too hard, he always seems to be too much. Maybe that’s the problem, why he’s always out of place. Maybe it’s his fault. 

He doesn’t feel like doing that today, trying too hard, at the very least because this friendship with Tendo isn’t totally solid yet and he’d rather not ruin what could be a good friendship, at a time when he really wants good friends. Instead, after Tendo introduces him to some of the people there, including, at last, the infamous Alison - they’re totally cute and they’ve heard of the band on Newt’s shirt, Newt simultaneously approves and is glad he didn’t try to compete with that - and then bounces away to mingle and be a good host, as he seems to be born to be, Newt sits on a couch and sips at a cup of punch laced with too much tequila and taps his feet to the music and people watches. 

There aren’t that many people. There’s Tendo, flirting outrageously with Alison, who, Newt is pleased to note, is definitely flirting back. Good for Tendo. There’s a little surge of bitterness there for a second (what must it be like to have a crush who actually likes you back and flirts with you and isn’t just _totally leading you on_ ); but he knows that is mean and jealous and petty, and he shoves it down and keeps looking. 

There’s the freshman boy, he had a weird name that Newt doesn’t remember, and he’s got the sort of classical looks and athletic figure that would normally lead Newt to arbitrarily despise him, except for the fact that when Tendo introduced him he cracked a weird Iggy Azalea (he called her Ignacious Australia) joke about his name rhyming with fancy - Yancy, that’s what it was - and laughed at himself, so that Newt is inclined to suspect he’s a bit of a dork. There’s that Cara girl, she’s cute, very cute, but Newt gets a vibe off of her that he doesn’t like. There’s the terrifying Russian girl, who is beautiful, but Newt thinks she might kill him if he insulted her so, considering how terrible his flirting is, it’s probably a better idea to keep a distance. And there’s that boy standing alone in the corner, what was his name, the introduction was incredibly brief- Hermann. Newt’s eyes pass over him without interest, on to the next person, and then he stops. What was that on his shirt? Wasn’t that...the Enterprise? 

He looks at Hermann again. And indeed it is, on his shirt, a graphic tee that is a little too big on him: an image of the Starship Enterprise, definitely from TOS, with an accompanying quote that Newt half remembers. He thinks it’s something Spock said at some point. It’s enough for Newt to take a more interested look at the boy. 

He’s a skinny little thing, probably taller than Newt, but so thin that he looks shorter than he is, especially considering none of his clothes quite fit him. Not in the way of kids whose families can’t afford better, but like someone who can never find clothes that fit properly and doesn’t really care much about fashion anyway and so has simply given up. His hair is similar, painfully short but obviously growing out and in need of a cut, his bangs flopping a little into his eyes. His face is all hard, sharp angles, with a wide, almost froggish mouth, and porcelain pale skin. Newt can’t decide whether or not these features composite into something attractive or not, and it doesn’t help that the boy is standing in the corner with his arms folded, a slight frown on his face, as if he deeply disapproves of anyone here and of the world in general. 

He unexpectedly glances up, and his eyes meet Newt’s. Newt wonders guiltily if it was obvious that he was staring. It must be - or maybe this kid is just really that unfriendly - because his frown deepens and his gaze sharpens into a glare. 

Newt looks down and unexpectedly stifles a laugh. Cute, he can’t help but think. He _is_ cute. His face is totally weird and grumpy, but he’s cute despite that, or maybe because of it. 

He looks up again a few seconds later and finds that Hermann has turned his eyes away from Newt again. Yeah, cute, Newt’s sure of it. He considers talking to him, but the way he’s standing there, shoulders hunched defensively and body language totally closed off, Newt is sure he doesn’t want someone to talk to him. Newt keeps an eye on him and waits for Tendo to circle around the room to Newt again, at which point he shrugs a shoulder toward the corner and asks, “Who’s that?” 

“Who? Oh, you mean Hermann? In the corner? Glaring at everyone?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’m glad he’s being so friendly and social over there,” Tendo remarks, narrowing his eyes. “That’s my friend Hermann. I want to say he’s not normally so anti-social, but he totally is. I’m honestly surprised I even convinced him to come. I mean, I did have to blackmail him, but I’m surprised that worked and he didn’t just take the fall.” 

“Is that why he looks so grumpy?”

“That’s also just how his face looks,” Alison says solemnly, appearing from nowhere to sit next to Tendo. “Poor child, his life must be so hard, stuck on permanent bitch face.” 

Newt laughs and asks, “Do you guys go to school together?”

Tendo nods. “Yeah, actually, we’ve been friends since seventh grade...Why are you asking?” 

Newt wriggles on the cushion a little and says, “No reason.”

Tendo looks at Hermann again, and then back at Newt. “Are you checking him out?”

“I’m just curious-”

Tendo tilts his head thoughtfully and says, “You know, I can kinda see that. You’re both ridiculously smart - he’s more math and physics than bio, but still, ridiculously smart - and total nerds, yeah, I can kinda see that.” 

“Really?” Newt says with renewed interest, glancing at Hermann again. He’s smart? And into science? And definitely cute. All that remains is- “Is he gay? Or into dudes in any capacity?”

Tendo smiles and shrugs in a gesture remarkably similar to the shrugging emoticon. “Honestly, I just don’t know. I have...suspicions, but nothing confirmed. Sorry, brother. You should still give it a shot, though!”

Newt makes a face and doesn’t answer. He’s kind of tired of flirting with people and then finding out that he never had a chance with them. Doesn’t seem worth it to even try, not when he could totally be straight, and still looks very much as if he doesn’t want a single person to talk to him and is thoroughly determined to have absolutely no fun. 

“Up to you,” Tendo says with another shrug. 

There’s a bit of an awkward pause, and then Alison says suddenly, “You know what we should do? We should play Spin the Bottle.”

“Oh my god, what?” Tendo says.

“I’ve never played before!”

“No one’s ever played before, no one plays Spin the Bottle outside of eighties movies. Should we play Seven Minutes in Heaven after that?”

“Why?” Alison says slyly. “Do you want to?”

Newt has to look away in disbelief from this blatant bit of flirting. Which means he is, again, looking at Hermann, is actually looking at him when Tendo stands up and announces loudly that they are going to play Spin the Bottle. Hermann’s mouth actually falls open for a moment, and his eyebrows shoot up, and he looks so totally appalled and indignant that Newt just wants to laugh, it’s clear he’s somehow managing to take this personally. 

And then, for a split second, he looks at Newt again. And starts when he sees Newt looking back at him and looks hurriedly away, frowning even harder. Newt thinks that his cheeks have gone a little pink. 

This is a gift, Newt realizes with an almost reverent sort of awe. He’s being handed a wonderful opportunity. He can play Spin the Bottle like he’s in an eighties brat pack movie, and if he’s lucky - he’s blithely confident that he will be - he’ll land on this boy, or Hermann’s spin will land on Newt, and he’ll get the chance to kiss him _and_ to see how receptive he is to that kiss, to judge if he has a chance. No muss no fuss, no commitment, no awkward dancing around and flirting badly, no misinterpreted signals, no leaning in for a kiss when he shouldn’t (and the subsequent humiliation), just a simple kiss to see how he reacts. And heck, even if he isn’t lucky and doesn’t land on Hermann, he’ll still probably get to kiss a few other people at this party, most of whom are pretty cute. Even if he lands on someone who isn’t cute, he still gets to kiss someone. Newt loves kissing, and does not- does not get to do it nearly as often as he would like. This is a goddamn _gift_. 

He doesn’t seem to be the only one that thinks so, either. People are quickly chiming up to consent, and after a few minutes, everyone other than the increasingly offended looking Hermann has consented, and he still sits down when everyone else does. They have to explain the rules to Sasha Kaidanovsky, but once she understands she agrees with a sort of knowing smile that makes her look even more intimidating. 

Everyone sits on the floor, which is slightly easier said than done with a bunch of tipsy teenagers; there’s lots of shoving and giggling and swearing, and the final result is far too lopsided to be properly called a circle, but ultimately everyone is sitting on the floor. Newt ends up on the opposite side of the not-a-circle from Hermann, who has folded his mouth into an astonishingly narrow line, and Newt has to resist the urge to wink at him. 

Tendo spins first, then the Russian girl, then drunk Fancy Yancy, then Cara who makes a sort of bitchy comment and looks annoyed when she gets- Newt. He grins. Cara pecks him on the lips, making a show of touching him as little as possible, but he doesn’t really care, because then it’s his turn to spin. He looks at Hermann again, feeling like he just _has_ to land on him, at this point it’s like, fate or something; he’s looking back at Newt, probably because it was just Newt’s turn, but when their eyes meet he flushes uncomfortably and turns his face away, focuses on the bottle instead. 

Newt spins. The bottle flashes around and around, wobbling on the ground, and begins to slow, and Newt holds his breath, hoping, c’mon, let me kiss the dorky boy, hoping so hard that he almost thinks his eyes are deceiving him when it really does stop on Hermann. But Hermann’s mouth falls open, so it must be real, and Newt grins. 

Someone starts to say something about how it’s a boy so he doesn’t have to actually kiss him, but fuck that noise, he’s moving across the circle before whoever it is even finishes speaking, and Hermann doesn’t move, just stares at him with wide eyes. Brown. He can see that, this close up, and then he shuts his eyes and kisses him.

Just a short kiss. He doesn’t want to be creepy about it. A soft, chaste kiss, one that he hopes genuinely indicates some interest without being too much. Hermann stays perfectly still. Newt draws back as whoever was speaking finishes, and Hermann’s face is frozen into precisely the same astonished expression as before Newt kissed him. 

He’s not sure what to make of that. Maybe the kiss was that good?

Newt smiles at him hopefully and crawls, a little more awkwardly, back across the floor to his spot in the not-circle, and still nothing, no reaction, no change at all, possibly no breathing, he sort of looks as if he isn’t breathing, and maybe that’s why it takes Newt so long to notice how shocked-silent the room has gone. 

Only for the silence to be broken by that girl, Cara, loudly saying, with a fake laugh-

“Well, that was _unexpected_ \- Although, how else would Hermann ever get kissed- And I’m sure he preferred it like tha- ”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Cara, no one cares what you think!” Alison says savagely. 

Cara’s mouth twists bitterly as she subsides, but Newt is mostly too busy looking at Hermann and feeling increasingly uneasy to notice. He’s gone utterly white, except for bright red spots on his cheeks, and his eyes are sort of blank, almost glazed. He scarcely even looks as if he’s listening to the conversation, which is perhaps for the best, except for the fact that the shock on his face hasn’t in the least faded, he’s as blindsided as if he just witnessed a car accident, or perhaps was _involved_ in a car accident, and there’s the slightest trembling around his mouth that has Newt wondering with horror if he’s about to cry. 

Did he just immensely fuck up? People are not supposed to look as if they want to cry after you kiss them. Maybe he should have asked. Consent is important, but it’s just a game- and he sat down- so he assumed- but you aren’t supposed to assume! Or maybe the kiss was that _bad_. Or maybe- Maybe he minds that Newt is a boy. He assumed that sort of thing wouldn’t be a problem with Tendo’s friends, but Cara’s reaction - at least it’s good to know the bad vibe he got from her was _spot on_ , he’s not usually that good at first assessments - makes it clear that it is. Maybe Hermann is disgusted because a boy kissed him.

It’s an ugly feeling. Not the first time Newt has encountered homophobia, of course not, but to know that someone is disgusted just because Newt kissed him, it hurts, it’s ugly inside of him. There are people that think he’s disgusting. That can’t even bear a two second, totally chaste kiss in a silly party game from him, just because he’s the same gender. _Fuck you_ , he thinks passionately, or, well, he wants to, he wants to just be angry, but there’s something so hurt and vulnerable in Hermann’s frozen face that instead he feels guilt. 

He’s not used to feeling guilt. He spends much of his time doing his goddamn best to avoid the feeling of guilt. And he doesn’t fucking want to feel guilt for _this_.

“Hermann, it’s your turn to spin,” Alison says softly, because Hermann isn’t moving.

He half starts, and says, “Oh,” in a soft voice, and reaches out and weakly spins the bottle. 

It lands on Sasha Kaidanovsky. She smiles in a way entirely different from before, no longer amused and knowing, now sort of tender and pitying, and moves across the circle to gently peck his cheek and pat him on the shoulder. “Ah, my turn now, who will I get?” she says, too loudly, probably to cover up how awkwardly quiet it still is. 

The rest of the party is terrible. Alison and Tendo get to kiss, a few turns later, and it goes on for several seconds and Fancy Yancy cheers and they stare into each other’s eyes with dewey smiles after. The horrible game stops a little after that. But that’s it, those are the only good things that happen. Newt just wants to disappear. Every time someone looks at him, he wonders if they are disgusted by him too, he wants to shout and throw things at them and he also wants to disappear. Hermann doesn’t look at him at all. The expression of shock fades off Hermann’s face eventually, only to be replaced with a complete lack of emotion that is about as disturbing. When the game ends and everyone stands up, he moves slowly, as if in a dream. (Newt’s not sure if his limp is part of that or not.) 

Newt goes off to sulk on his own and wonder if it would be okay if he just fucked off now. He can’t, though, because a few moments later, Tendo - looking gloriously happy, the bastard - approaches him. 

“Sorry for traumatizing your friend,” Newt says, he can hear how mean and sarcastic he sounds, and he doesn’t care, “Please apologize to him for me for having to undergo the horror of kissing _me_ , a _boy_ -”

“I think that was his first kiss,” Tendo interrupts. 

Newt stops. “What?”

Tendo sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t think it’s like what you’re thinking- I mean, I guess it could be...I hope not?...And I don’t think it is, I’m just, I’m pretty sure that was his first kiss, and he doesn’t do really well with surprises, and you definitely surprised him, so I’m pretty sure those things are why he’s currently looking like someone hit him over the head with a brick. And Cara teasing afterwards probably didn’t help.” 

Newt wouldn’t exactly call that teasing - way too much spite in her voice - but that’s not the important part. “Wha- His first kiss- Really? Oh. Oh man, fuck-” He looks over at Hermann, back in his corner again, staring at his feet so Newt can’t see his face, and feels guilty again, but it’s a slightly better sort of guilt. “Aw, that would be kind of a shock, I guess, I can see that. Aw, now I feel bad. Shit.” 

“He’s resilient, he’ll be fine,” Tendo assures him. “I think.” 

The party ends not long after that. It’s not quite as bad after Tendo talks to him, but it’s still pretty shitty, so Newt is glad it ends. 

And later that night, lying in bed, unable to sleep - fairly par for course - he thinks about it again, and he wonders. First kiss. That’s a pretty crappy first kiss, he does see why someone might be sort of upset over that, especially if they are the sort of person who really builds up their first kiss in their mind, someone who was saving it for someone special. (Newt didn’t. He had his first kiss at fourteen in his basement with a freshman girl with braces that he was helping study for her bio final, and they broke up a week later. Good times.) But the expression on Hermann’s face keeps shoving itself back in his mind, and with it doubt. Maybe that was just the expression of someone upset at losing their first kiss in less than an ideal way. But he’s not so sure. “First kiss,” doesn’t explain looking like his world had fundamentally shifted under his feet or spending the whole rest of the party so traumatized, not to Newt’s mind at least. But what would explain it is homophobia, especially if, say, he’d been suspected of being gay by others and didn’t like that - because of course it’s so _disgusting_ to be gay that just being suspected of it is shameful, right? - as that bitchy girl’s comment would seem to suggest. 

The ugliness blooms inside him again, and he rolls over agitatedly in bed, and tries to not think about it, and of course spends the whole rest of the night, and the weekend, _thinking_ about it, and getting more annoyed about it every day, more convinced he’s right and Tendo was wrong.

 

 

So he’s really surprised when Tendo texts him Hermann’s phone number on Monday and tells him that _Hermann (from my party) wants to get in contact with u ;)))))_. 

He stares at the message for a few seconds, minutes, maybe, sort of vaguely wondering, _What the hell?_ and, when that yields no answers, again, _What the hell!_. Why on earth would Hermann want to get in contact with him? 

There’s only one way to find out, really, and he doesn’t even really think about it. (He’s Newt Geiszler, of course he doesn’t think about it.) He just inputs the phone number and _calls_ him. 

He’s half expecting- Well, he’s not really sure, but maybe that Hermann will yell at him, call him names, tell him he’s disgusting, demand an apology, something like that. And then Newt will be able to tell him to go fuck himself and he’ll feel better about the whole thing probably and it’ll all be over probably.

But Hermann just sounds small and uncertain (and British, oddly enough) when he answers the phone, so that Newt immediately loses all steam, and instead of confronting him, asks him why he called, and even starts to anxiously justify his actions at the party, as if he was in the wrong. And maybe he was. 

“I’m at school right now, I can’t talk,” Hermann says quietly. 

Newt feels like a complete idiot. Which is rare, for him. Like, objectively, he knows that he does questionable things _really often_ , but he doesn’t usually admit to them being questionable, particularly not in the moment. He’s Newton Geiszler, he’s a genius, and therefore, by default, everything he does is genius. And rock star. Obviously. 

But. Duh. Of course he’s at school. He finds himself thinking that he’s ruined this, only, what _is_ this-

But Hermann tells him to call back later, instead of saying _fuck off_ , or, _I just wanted to call to tell you I hate you_ , or something like that. He even says it would be “good” if Newt called him after school. Good. 

Newt is...confused. That also doesn’t happen a lot. Again, “genius rock star.” 

“This is about what happened at the party, right?” he has to ask. 

He can actually _hear_ Hermann swallow nervously over the phone line. And when he answers, “Yes,” he sounds like he wants to sound cold and hard, but is far too nervous to do so. And then he hangs up. Without saying goodbye or anything. 

Newt puts his phone down quietly. “Interesting.”

And picks it back up immediately to check how long it is until three, when Hermann’s school ends. Hours. It’s _hours_. He’s going to die of curiosity.

He has finals to study for and an essay to write for the annoying lit class they made him take - he literally wants to travel back in time and fight Socrates - but most of those three hours are spent wondering what the hell is going on, checking how long it is until he can call, and getting alternately pissed off and hopeful. He barely has the force of will to make himself wait five minutes _after_ three so that he doesn’t seem desperate. Desperate for _what_ , he’s not really sure, at all, but he doesn’t want to seem desperate for it. But when those five minutes are up, he dives for his phone.

He should have waited longer, obviously; Hermann’s voice, when he answers, is hard to hear over a roar of voices and movement in the background, recognizable as the chaos that comes at the end of the day in public school, and Hermann says, “Please wait a moment,” instead of hello, and then doesn’t say anything more until the background noise has faded away. 

Which is when the conversation gets...weird. 

It’s about the party, Newt was expecting that. Hermann goes a little incoherent when he brings it up, but it’s certainly about the party, about the _game_ , and of course Newt is an asshole and says, “Been thinking about that a lot, huh?” with a little laugh, as if he hasn’t been doing the exact same thing. God. What the fuck is wrong with him? (A lot, probably.) But he just can’t make up his mind whether or not he’s angry at this kid for reacting to him like that, or guilty for behaving the way he did. Both, maybe? Ugh. Feelings are gross. 

Hermann, he thinks, might have a similar dilemma going, because when Newt tries to half-heartedly apologize, he cuts him off angrily, then interrupts _himself_ and insists that isn’t what he’s calling for. 

His explanation of why he did call-

Newt’s heart sort of leaps for a second. Because- well, if you ignore his weirdly clinical tone and parse apart his almost scientific language, what he’s asking for is a repeat performance, with Newt. A repeat of the kiss. He’s asking to kiss Newt _again_ , he’s asking-

“So, are you asking me out on a date?” (He’s only sorta joking.)

“What? No! Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous!” is the swift response. (He’s definitely not joking at all). 

What goes up must come down, right, just like his namesake said - in so many words - blah blah apple blah blah gravity - and so, in turn, Newt’s heart comes crashing down from its jump. _Ridiculous_. Wow. That’s fucking harsh. Going on a date with Newt would be ridiculous. Of course, it’s not like that’s the first time he’s heard that, so really, what else was he expecting? But he didn’t have to sound so horrified about it.

He says, “Right,” as expressionlessly as possible, but his previous suspicions about homophobia are resurfacing. He really doesn’t understand, though, what the hell does this asshole want from him?

“I simply wanted to repeat the experience of the party! To understand it! Like, an experiment!” 

Then Newt gets it. 

It’s like what you hear about, right? “Experimenting with your sexuality.” What cishet people are referring to when they insist someone is just “going through a phase!!!” He’s some straight kid that just wants to try being gay on for size. He literally said experiment. Newt probably blew his mind with a _gay_ kiss and now he’s curious, or bi curious, or whatever. Newt is probably the only gay kid he knows - well, okay, there’s Tendo and Alison, but they’re way too into each other - so he’s turning to him. 

It’s kind of shitty. No, it’s totally shitty. Like, gay kids are not just objects for you to experiment with your sexuality with, get your kicks for a while and someday have a titillating story to tell. But, fuck, Newt doesn’t care. He gets to kiss a cute boy, literally no strings attached, just for fun, just to experiment. Hell, it’s for _science_. It’s weird, it’s totally weird, and shitty, but what does he care? Honestly, he just wants to kiss someone, he wants to kiss someone and not have it be weird and not know what the other person feels, if they like him or not, if they’re using him or not, if they’re just leading him on or screwing around with him or if they actually _like_ him. It can’t possibly be like that here, because Newt knows now that this boy doesn’t like him, is using him, is not leading him on, that absolutely no feelings are involved. The terms are all set out beforehand, scientific and clinical, each of them getting something out of it: Hermann a fun, safe, teen experiment with his sexuality, Newt some nice, simple kissing. 

For science. 

And if Hermann sounds a little weird about it, and if Newt purposely flirts with him, using his best sexy voice over the phone to see how Hermann reacts and to screw with him, well, it’s all for science. 

 

 

Hermann’s house is terrifying. It’s not exactly surprising, Newt supposes, that he’s from a family that’s pretty well off. Yeah, he was dressed a little shabby at the party, but there was something far too well-cared for in his appearance, and something too posh in the way he talked on the phone, for him to actually be any sort of poor. The house, two stories, not enormous but definitely larger than Newt’s, and a demure shade of gray, is clearly expensive without being at all ostentatious. That almost makes it worse. It’s the sort of quiet, tasteful design that immediately makes Newt think of old money. He bets they pay someone to cut the lawn to exactly two inches or whatever that is. Probably have maids too. The neighborhood the house stands in is equally quiet and well-behaved, filled with equally tasteful houses and even green lawns. Newt feels sort of small and out of place and grubby just standing on the porch and trying to work up the nerve to ring the doorbell, which is ridiculous, since it’s not even like his family is _poor_ , they are very comfortably middle class, thank you very much, not that it would make him inferior or whatever if they weren’t.

He pushes the button for the doorbell a trifle more forcefully than necessary. 

Hermann opens the door only a few seconds later, very wide eyed but otherwise expressionless when he sees Newt. 

It’s sort of odd to see him, after a week of thinking about him intermittently, and to realize that he’s only seen him once before, and that only close up for a handful of seconds that were ever so slightly blurred by alcohol. He doesn’t look quite like Newt remembered. For one, obvious thing, he’s wearing different clothes; a dark, long sleeved shirt that shows off his pale skin to unexpected advantage, and jeans that are too long and too baggy on him. And socks, which is strange, somehow Newt is utterly sure that Hermann is not a person who would ordinarily let people see something so casual and personal about him as his socks. It renders him peculiarly vulnerable. There’s also that his mouth is wider than Newt remembered and yet somehow not unattractive, and his hair and eyes are a lighter color than he’d thought, though still dark, and he’s taller than Newt expected, taller than him. There’s a shadow on one sharp cheekbone that Newt thinks might be an almost healed bruise. 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Newt. Maybe he’s thinking similar things. 

“Hi,” Newt says.

He sort of twitches back into life, and backs out of the door and lets Newt in and instructs him to take his shoes off. Newt is not in the least surprised that this is the sort of house you aren’t supposed to wear shoes in.

Because the inside of the house is even more terrifying than the outside. It’s so...impersonal. It looks like houses look when they are being sold and realtors are taking people on tours, very clean and well arranged but lifeless. The front door leads into what Newt supposes must be the living room, but it doesn’t look like anywhere someone would live. There’s a black leather couch and matching armchairs, and a coffee table with one of those large books of pictures that rich people leave strategically upon on their coffee tables so they look smart and fancy, and a big television on the wall with no matching remote in sight. The carpet is pure white, Newt doesn’t even know how it’s possible to keep a carpet that white, and the walls are painted a tasteful shade of gray (different from the tasteful gray of the outside of the house), and- This last bit takes him several seconds of looking around while fumbling with his shoelaces to pick up on, but there is not a single picture on the walls. No family portraits, embarrassing school pictures of Hermann, not even a nice framed bit of artwork, professional or awkward childhood creation. The walls are utterly bare. It’s the least welcoming house that Newt has ever been in. That, combined with how terribly nervous Hermann looks as he waits for Newt to take his shoes off, make Newt take a little pity on him. Maybe he’s an asshole, but god, what must his family be like to have a house like this? Maybe he can’t help it. Maybe he comes from a family of assholes and can’t help it. 

Plus, when Newt stands back up, Hermann offers to lead him to his bedroom, and then immediately starts blushing and stammering to explain himself, and it’s just a tiny bit cute, and that makes Newt softens a bit more. He notices, now, as Hermann leads him down a short hall off of the living room, that he is certainly limping as he walks, just as he was at the party. Maybe even more so than before

Hermann’s room is not much better than the rest of the house: white walls and, again, no posters or decorations, a perfectly made bed, a bookshelf mostly containing textbooks and only a few novels, a desk with neatly arranged piles of notebooks and paper and pens and pencils, and- A cane. 

He sort of hates himself for noticing that, and for noticing that Hermann was limping, and for noticing that Hermann sort of side eyes Newt as if daring him to comment on any of it. Still, he can’t exactly help it. The noticing, that is. He can help commenting on it, and he so he certainly does not. He makes a random, innocent remark about the room instead. 

Hermann tells him to sit down, and then gets a look like a deer in the headlights when Newt sits on his bed. But where else was he supposed to sit? The desk chair could only hold one of them. Unless they were to share, Hermann is so slim that Newt is sure he could hold his weight on his lap, but considering that Hermann seemed to have been emotionally traumatized by just a single kiss before, Newt is pretty sure that’s not what he’s thinking of. 

Hermann, again, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, definitely doesn’t try to kiss Newt. He’s standing rigidly still, hands linked tightly in front of him and twisting awkwardly as if he has no idea he’s doing it, and he’s still kind of blushing, and he’s just pouring off waves of discomfort and anxiety. 

That’s no good. Kissing is no fun if one or more of the people involved are this nervous, Newt can tell you that from experience. Then everything is just stiff and weird and not at all fun, and besides, he doesn’t want to feel like _he’s_ forcing this guy - when it was _his_ idea - and oh, all right, he’s softening more toward him with every awkward, nervous second. 

He’s gotta get him to loosen up. So he makes him sit down too and starts a conversation. He really, _really_ doesn’t mean for the conversation to be anything significant at all, just introductions - Gottlieb, that was his last name - and random small talk, _Hermann_ is the one that somehow manages to make it into an argument, but that does the trick well enough. 

Because Hermann not only relaxes, he gets totally into it, his eyes go bright and he leans forward, toward Newt instead of flinching slightly every time Newt moves, and he raises his voice and gestures sharply in the air and just sort of rants passionately about science and aliens and the secrets of the universe, and he’s totally dissing Newt’s major which ordinarily would super piss him off, except he can’t remember ever hearing anyone talk like this about science other than- other than himself, really, and it’s blazingly clear that he’s highly intelligent, as intelligent as Tendo said, at least, and he’s also just really cute. 

Oh, Newt thinks happily. This is going to be so much more fun than he realized. He doesn’t just get to make out with a cute boy, he gets to make out with a cute boy that’s really smart and likes science and says that he believes in aliens as if to believe otherwise would be ridiculous. Newt really _wants_ to kiss him right now, not just because he can kiss him but because his enthusiasm and self-righteous indignation is irresistible. And maybe this won’t just be kissing, maybe they can talk too, a little bit. 

Hermann cuts himself off mid-sentence and demands, “Why are you looking me like that?” 

Newt means to convey some of what he was just thinking, but he wants to kiss him so much now that all he can do is lean in closer - there’s really not so much distance to close, Hermann leaned in so much - and breathes, “Cool.”

Hermann goes very still and wide eyed again, and Newt remembers something. 

“Was that your first kiss?” he asks, stopping himself only a few inches from Hermann’s face. 

Hermann nods. 

This time when Newt apologizes, he’s sincere. That’s pretty rare for him, he hopes Hermann is grateful. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Newt says, so that there’s no element of surprise this time, no worrying about that, and Hermann parts his lips and says, “Okay,” so Newt kisses him.

It’d be a pretty mediocre kiss if Newt didn’t know this was only Hermann’s second time. He pretty much lets Newt do all the work, and it’s totally chaste, no hint of any sort of tongue action. But knowing that it is only his second kiss, Newt is pretty okay with that. His own first and second (and third and fourth and-) kisses were a little rushed and sloppy and awkward, mostly because Cindy of the braces hadn’t ever kissed anyone before either, and Newt thinks those kisses would have been vastly improved by slowing down, not pushing too hard and too far. It’s nice to be able to do that for someone else. And there’s something about the innocence of it, the excited, pure newness, that makes it nice for him too. He’s positively elated when Hermann actually tentatively leans into it, and only pulls away himself because it occurs to him that it’s been several seconds and Hermann doesn’t seem to be breathing. 

From the dazed look on his face, and the way he gasps, he definitely did need the reminder to breathe. Newt is pleased with himself. Damn. He’s good. He made someone forget to keep _breathing_. 

They kiss for at least half an hour more, which was a little less than Newt was expecting - he could kiss for hours - but is definitely long enough for Hermann, who is scarlet - so scarlet that Newt just has to reach out and touch his cheek, see how hot his skin is - and shaking and breathing hard. 

He says, “So. How are the results of the experiment coming out? Figured out why I make you go all red-faced yet?” but barely pauses long enough for Hermann to transition from dazed to silently alarmed before he continues, “No biggie if you don’t. I mean, proper experimentation requires lots of trials, right? Gathering as much data as you need. Even if you did have the answer…We’d probably still need to experiment loads more. So. We’ll just do this again...if you want. Next weekend, maybe?”

After all, Newt is pretty sure _he_ knows the answer, and if he’s right, it would be to both of their disadvantages to answer and thus end the experiment. And besides, he does look _so_ alarmed, and that fades into relief when Newt says that they should keep experimenting, and he’s more than willing to give him that break. It’s what they both want, right? 

So they make plans for next weekend, and then, because that didn’t take as long as Newt thought and he didn’t tell his dad to come back for another hour or so - he’s running errands, so Newt can’t just call him up to say things changed - they watch _Star Trek_ for an hour, and- And Hermann divides his time between staring dreamily at Captain Kirk and looking at Newt, and Newt starts to wonder. 

 

 

He lies awake, that night, and he wonders. 

Hermann blushed _so much_ (it was adorable on him, but that’s not relevant, probably). He reacted so enthusiastically to kissing. He looked panicked when Newt asked him if he figured out the results of the experiment yet. Not as if he was just concerned about ending the experiment, but as if he genuinely didn’t know the answer, and was a little afraid to find it. And he- He really fucking stared at Captain Kirk. With a good deal of admiration. He was trying to hide it, obviously, as if he didn’t even know he were doing so, but Newt noticed. Newt picked that particular episode because it was funny and Kirk and Spock were hot in it, but he hadn’t expected those things to appeal to Hermann. 

And he wonders if he was, maybe, a little wrong. Maybe it’s not that Hermann is straight. Maybe it’s that he _isn’t_. After all, Tendo said he was _unsure_ of Hermann’s sexual orientation, not that he thought Hermann was straight, but that he was unsure. And that girl made a similar remark, and it was super bitchy so Newt disregarded it until now, but now he wonders. Maybe what’s happening here is not a straight boy wanting to experiment with his sexual identity, but a gay boy in the closet...either being unwilling to admit that he is gay but still wanting a chance to kiss a boy, or, like Hermann said, more or less, a boy _genuinely_ not knowing he’s gay, not knowing why he reacts to another boy like this, and wanting to figure it out but being way too deep in the closet to admit to himself what’s going on, at least not without a little help. 

Neither of those latter options are _great_ ; they’re still a bit rooted in homophobia, Newt thinks, because why else would you deny so stringently to yourself that you’re gay? But it’s also a bit sad, and definitely something he can feel compassion for, and he softens even more toward Hermann. 

It doesn’t change things, really, except adding a bit more motivation for Newt. Kissing Hermann was nice, hanging out with Hermann was unexpectedly fun, he wants to keep doing both of those, but now there’s also the thought that he might be helping a kid figure out their sexuality, understand themselves better. That’s nice. And, well- Hanging out with him really was fun. He wasn’t expecting that. He only suggested the tv show to kill the wait and because he knew Hermann liked the show and it would be easier than chatting, but it was fun. Hermann kept shushing him when he made sassy comments, and then seconds later speaking up himself to contradict what Newt said, and then shushing him when he tried to respond, and he was so indignant over practically everything Newt said, it was so funny. Newt would be willing to do it again. (Maybe even without kissing?) So, maybe, if Hermann is gay, or, well, _maybe_ even if he isn’t, they can come out of this friends. He’ll help this weirdo figure out his sexuality, and then he’ll probably be grateful and shit, and they can be friends. 

Friends, so stop thinking about the fact that up close, his eyelashes were amazingly long. Like hell is he going there.


	13. An Alternate Hypothesis, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more time, with feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically the other day I realized I haven't really been having fun writing and/or doing fandom stuff for a while now, and I had been trying to make myself write regularly so that I could be a Good Writer, but I'm tired of doing that. So that's why this chapter took so long and still isn't very good. I still don't intend to abandon this story, I just don't really want to force myself to do something that is supposed to be for fun. Sorry for dragging out this ridiculous story soooo much. 
> 
> Anyway, here's the nerds making out and having angst and feelings, etc. (Wow, I just realized you could summarize almost all of my fics like that. Nice.)

The second time he goes to Hermann’s house is a lot like the first, except that they make out properly and it’s amazing. Newt puts his hand on Hermann’s slim thigh (he was actually aiming for just above his knee, but he sorta missed, and Hermann definitely seemed to be into it, so all’s well that ends awesomely). Newt invites Hermann to his place, and, maybe most importantly, Hermann finally calls Newt by his nickname, just once. 

He blushes when he does so, and for a moment he is astonishingly cute, cuter than he’s been so far, and Newt ducks and kisses him softly on the lips, then walks away wondering why the hell he just did that. 

 

 

Newt wakes up to the sound of his front door opening and a cheerful voice calling out, “Hellooo?” His initial thought, for some reason, is that he’s utterly overslept and it’s _Hermann_ , fuck, just how late is it- how did Hermann even get _in_ \- 

But it’s not Hermann’s voice, of course, not Hermann at all, and the old digital alarm clock sitting on the cluttered bedside table tells him it’s only a little before twelve. The voice calls out again, and Newt sits up and recognizes it properly this time. His Uncle Illia. 

Not exactly an unfamiliar occurrence, his uncle letting himself into the house without letting anyone know beforehand that he has any intention of coming over. He only lives a few miles away in a small apartment - that’s why his father moved here, originally, to be close to him, or at least partially why - and has the set of spare keys that neither Newt nor his father can be trusted to not lose. He’s picked up the habit, perhaps stemming from the days of Newt’s childhood when he would often babysit Newt, of treating the house as his own. Newt wouldn’t mind, doesn’t mind usually, except right now it’s pretty inconvenient, because Hermann _is_ supposed to be coming here in about three hours, probably why that was his first thought on waking up. Newt had very purposely arranged it so that Hermann would come over when no one else was home, which doesn’t really work if someone else is home after all. 

He calls out a grumpy response to the far too enthusiastic _hello_ s of his uncle and reluctantly hauls himself out of bed. That’s the other part he minds of Illia just showing up. He delights in showing up before noon on days when he knows Newt will be sleeping in, apparently just so that he can wake Newt up. He certainly seems to take pleasure in it. Illia is quite a bit younger than Newt’s father, and when you combine that with his youthful face and constitutional unwillingness to grow up, means that he doesn’t usually act like a typical “uncle.” People have guessed before that he’s Newt’s brother rather than his uncle. Illia was very pleased with that. Newt’s dad was not. 

Newt can hear him moving stuff around out in the kitchen - loudly, probably to make sure that Newt can’t just roll over and go back to sleep - and so he heads there, yawning and patting ineffectually at his messy bedhead. He leans against the doorway and directs a glare at Illia, who is facing away from him and digging around in the fridge. He has to wait a few minutes - he strongly suspects Illia knows he is there and is purposely dragging it out - which makes it a little harder to hold the glare, but at last Illia turns around, pretends to be surprised to see him there, and says innocently, “Oh no, did I wake you?” 

“Yes,” he says, trying to sound fierce, trying, maybe, to channel the rigid disapproval Hermann is so good at, but mostly just sounding sleepy and irritable. “Why are you here and how long are you intending to stay?”

“It’s so nice having you home from college,” Illia says fondly, and ducks back into the fridge. 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind _normally_ -” He has to speak loudly, because Illia is rattling things around in the fridge far more forcefully than seems necessary, Newt is sure he’s doing it on purpose- “But I have a friend coming over in a little while!”

“I’ll be gone soon, don’t worry. Just promise me you’ll use a condom.” 

“It’s not like that!” Newt says impatiently. 

Illia laughs again and says, “Sure, sure,” and emerges at last with enough ingredients to make the sort of enormous sandwich only cartoon characters eat. Newt shakes his head and goes to take a shower, hoping Illia will be gone when he gets out.

He isn’t, of course. Nor is he gone by the time Newt gets dressed and makes coffee and has his own breakfast, or an hour later when Newt starts checking the time to see how long it is till Hermann will be here. He keeps saying he’ll be gone, and he keeps just...not being gone. Sometimes when Newt interacts with Illia and gets annoyed, a small, guilty voice in the back of his mind wonders if this is how other people feel dealing with him. He gets the same feeling with his mom, sometimes, although he’s better at ignoring it then. 

“I’ll be gone in thirty minutes or so,” Illia says several times. 

And then it’s three and school must be over, and then it’s ten minutes later and Hermann is sending him a grammatically correct text to let him know he’s coming, and Illia is _still there_. 

“Goddammit,” Newt mutters to himself, and hovers out in the kitchen so he can be ready to get the door, without being too obviously waiting. He at least wants to be the one to get the door.

He picked a time that he knew his father wouldn’t be home on purpose. Of course he did, just like he’s sure that Hermann picked times that no one would be at his house on purpose. It’s just sorta weird, otherwise. Maybe if they were, like, dating or whatever, it wouldn’t be weird, but how do you explain, oh this is a boy I hardly know, but we’re making out. For science. Kinda. 

You don’t, that’s the answer, it’s not something you explain, and you definitely don’t explain it to your grown-up family member who would never ever stop teasing you about it until the day one of you died, and then would probably haunt you from beyond the grave just so he could tease you about it some more. And it’s one thing for Illia to know, that’s bad enough, but he’d just tease. What would be worse, is that Newt’s dad would be bound to find out (and from there, somehow, even though Jacob and Illia barely speak to her, somehow Monica would find out too). Newt’s dad wouldn’t be...Well, he knows he’s lucky. His dad tries, he tries really hard. He was definitely surprised when Newt did the whole awkward coming out thing, and he made the dumb pan joke, but he also told Newt that he still loved him and accepted him and all that crap, and he’s obviously a little uncomfortable with all of it, but he’s also obviously trying, and Newt is sure that if he _did_ bring home a boyfriend, his father would be cool with it. And Illia is utterly fine with it - was probably just excited to have the chance to tease Newt about multiple genders instead of just the one - and Monica said “Oh, darling, I knew all along,” and that’s probably bullshit but she terminally refuses to be surprised by anything ever, and it was kinda nice that she just took it in stride, so Newt knows he’s lucky, but also his dad _is_ a little uncomfortable about it, and Newt doesn’t wanna deal with how much more uncomfortable he might be with his son making out with random boys. (He’s not sure that “But, Dad, it’s for science!” would go over real great.) And he’s not sure he can come up with any other good explanation for a random high school aged boy coming over and the two of them staying locked up in his room the whole time. He’s not a good liar, his dad would find out, and, then it would be awkwardness compounded by him _lying_ about it. So, really, if he can just keep his dad from finding out about this at all, he’d prefer to. But if Illia is here, that’s going to mean no kissing when Hermann comes. Maybe no kissing at all, if Illia keeps on like this. In which case…

They’ve interacted okay without kissing both times. They talked before the kissing - Hermann actually started the talking last time - and they’ve watched tv and chatted after, and it was okay, kind of fun, even, Newt still thinks they might be able to be friends, but he’s not sure how it’ll be if it’s just that, this early on. Hermann is clearly...awkward, and for that matter, so is Newt. And what’s even the point, right now, if they do it without kissing? At the very least, Hermann might be thinking that, and then it’ll definitely be no fun. And even if it isn’t like that, Newt feels, somehow, that just knowing that there’s an adult in the house will make things feel uncomfortable, as if they are being watched, even when they are out of sight. 

He likes Illia being around, normally, he pretty much hero worshipped him as a kid, and there’s still, if he’s being honest, a bit of that around, but right now, sitting uncomfortably in the kitchen and waiting, he wishes he’d just _go_. 

God. This really must be how other people feel when they interact with him. 

It makes him jump when the doorbell rings a few moments later. He’d been thinking so hard about waiting for Hermann that he had, somehow, forgotten he was waiting for Hermann. 

He jumps to his feet and shouts, “Coming!” and then runs through the house - shit, why didn’t he clean up the living room a bit, he should have done that - and flings the door open. Hermann is there, of course, looking sort of tired, mouth set in a thin line that Newt might think was annoyed if he didn’t see the way that Hermann was twisting his hands in and out of each other, or the way that he half-flinches in surprise when Newt realizes he nearly forgot about the cat - who isn’t allowed out but always tries to go out anyway - and shouts at it. 

He’s sure that he should have cleaned when he lets Hermann in and sees Hermann looking around curiously at the front room. The difference between his house and Hermann’s house is suddenly striking. Instead of wide open spaces and sedate colors and everything in its place, his house is grubby and loud and colorful and cramped and messy. He never thought his house was small before, it _isn’t_ really small, but it feels tiny in comparison. He can’t help but be self-conscious, even though Hermann’s gaze seems more curious than judgmental. Of course he is being judgmental. Hermann is one of those people that just screams “judgmental,” and that house was the same. 

“Sorry if it’s a bit of a mess,” he says, feeling uncomfortable and a little resentful of that. 

“Hm? No, no, it’s fine,” Hermann says, a little too quickly, but not insincerely, and he takes off his shoes even though that isn’t really necessary and in fact Newt is pretty sure that his uncle is currently clomping around in muddy combat boots. 

Which reminds him.

He jumps in front of Hermann before he can go any further into the house and says hurriedly, “Um, my uncle has popped in for a bit, he should be gone soon, no worries, but, uh, just so you know-”

It’s good timing, because a moment later Uncle Illia’s voice booms through the house, calling Newt’s name, and Hermann visibly starts, so he can’t imagine how much more alarmed he might be if he hadn’t warned him. He still wishes he could warn him more...thoroughly. Illia is a bit of an overwhelming presence at time, and much as Illia likes teasing Newt, he seems to like teasing Newt’s friends even more. Newt already dreads how uptight, prickly, nervous Hermann is going to take that. But there’s no time; Illia is calling out, “ _Is your friend here_?” and, from the sound of his footsteps - those boots really are loud - is coming closer. Newt only has time to shout back, “ _Yeah, he just got here_!” before Illia comes into the room. 

He manages to keep the conversation relatively short, thankfully. Illia demands an introduction, which Newt does so that Hermann, who has gone sort of stiff and uncomfortable again beside him - which is really impressive when Illia is being his most friendly as he currently is, Newt might be a little offended, actually, if he wasn’t so sure that Hermann is the kind that doesn’t like meeting new people - doesn’t have to say much. Or anything. Anything at all. 

Then after the introduction there’s just Illia making fun of him a bit. Implying that Newt brought Hermann over for...certain specific reasons. God, he really wishes he never introduced Kaylee to his dad and uncle, Illia will _never_ let go of that! He didn’t even tell them he was interested in her, Illia just, like, sniffed it out or something, and hasn’t stopped mentioning it since. Although. Is Hermann cuter? Maybe. But regardless of whether he is, Illia should stop assuming things. He never even hooked up with Kaylee anyway, they were never, like, officially a thing. And it’s a totally different situation now, obviously. 

At least he’s able to escape after that, lead Hermann down to his bedroom and throw himself on his bed (and wonder again if he should have cleaned) and groan and look up at Hermann-

Who is standing in the doorway still, face blank and also astonishingly red. 

“Dude,” he says, “Why are you so red?”

Hermann fidgets and says, very carefully, in very perfect German without a hint of American or English accent, “ _I speak German_.” 

Newt just sort of doesn’t believe it at first. Like. What? No. No way. That’s not possible. Okay- Okay, sure, “Hermann Gottlieb” is a sort of intensely German name, but like, whatever, this is America, dammit, lots of people have names that sound like they are from lots of different countries that they aren’t at all related to. Lots of people are third or fourth or fiftieth generation. It honestly hadn’t even occurred to him that, even with a name like that, Hermann might be, like, actually German, German enough to speak the language. Newt’s first generation and _he’s_ not totally one hundred percent perfectly fluent. That is, he doesn’t have an accent and he speaks fluidly, but sometimes he forgets words and so on. Although to be fair he does that in English too, that might just be his brain. But anyway, of course he hadn’t assumed or even thought that a name like that would equal Hermann speaking German. (Haha, Hermann, German. It rhymes. How ridiculous.)

But he totally did. He totally did just speak German. And he totally is red and not meeting Newt’s eyes and sorta fidgeting in spot still - he’s doing the flexing thing with his hands again, he seems to often express discomfort through his hands - and that would make sense if he just heard/understood all that. He totally definitely just heard Illia say that he was cute, cuter than “the last one.” And heard Newt say that he didn’t want to fuck him and oh. My god. Please just let him disappear. 

He still sorta wants to not believe it but it just seems way too obviously true now.

“Fuck!” he says loudly, helplessly, and buries his hot face in his hands. Oh, god, at least in the past he’s always been able to rely on the majority of the embarrassing things Illia says staying in German, so that only he can respond, but of course! Of course that luck could only last so long! Of course it would run out at surely the most embarrassing moment possible! Of course super smart Hermann Gottlieb - that name could only be more German if he was named like, Klaus or Hans or something, honestly - speaks goddamn German! 

“Sorry,” Hermann says weakly, and Newt is grateful, honestly, that he’s gone back to English, because he really can’t stand to be reminded of that more right now. 

He waves that off, because obviously expecting someone to apologize for speaking the same language as you would be kind of a dick move, and since Hermann is still standing in the doorway awkwardly - he’s a little taller than Newt and does he like, enjoy that or something? Because he seems to loom over Newt a lot instead of just sitting down - he beckons him in and tells him to sit down. 

Hermann glances around for a second as if looking for somewhere else to sit than the bed. Which there isn’t, because Newt prefers to use his one chair as a shelf. Obviously. But like, geez, does he think Newt’s gonna jump his bones just because they’re sitting on a bed together? He always get weird about it. He’s so weird. Newt kinda wants to smile, because he’s so weird. 

Hermann sits down at last, very carefully, on the edge of the bed. Newt would swear he checks for stains before he does so. What a brat. He bites his lip and fidgets a bit more. Newt opens his mouth to assure him that his bed is _perfectly_ clean - he actually washed the sheets pretty recently, after he came home for the summer - but before he can, Hermann says, “So, ah, this is probably- No. Never mind.” 

Maybe it’s not the bed that has him fidgeting. “What?” Newt says. 

Hermann ducks his head and looks studiously at his hands. “It’s none of my business, never mind,” he repeats. 

And that’s just- infuriating, really. Because now if he doesn’t find out, he’s going to spend the rest of the day, the rest of his life, wondering what it was. And it’s not like he’s sensitive, or whatever, a lifetime of people thinking he’s weird and making fun of him has given him pretty thick skin. And like, okay, maybe he gets a little weird about wanting people to like him, but that’s not the same, and he’s used to being disappointed in that. Besides, it’s pretty hard to imagine Hermann being- Well, not _rude_ , because Hermann is rude pretty often, he’s abrupt and stuck up and always sure he’s right and Newt already can’t count, after two or three times of hanging out, how many times Hermann has insulted him. So of course he can imagine Hermann being rude. But even then; some of it was surely awkwardness and nervousness. Some of it was Newt’s fault, because he pissed him off. Some of it was just Hermann’s personality. And none of it was...It was _rude_ , but it wasn’t ever willfully _offensive_. He doesn’t think that’s Hermann’s style. 

So he says, “Nah, but now you gotta ask or the curiosity will kill me. And if it really is none of your business, I just won’t tell.” 

Hermann fidgets harder but says carefully, “Okay...Um. Your uncle asked if, uh-” He conspicuously has to pause and brace himself to say the word, “If I was your _boyfriend_ as if that was- So- Ah, um, are you gay? I- I know that’s rude to ask…” 

Newt has to laugh. Jesus. Didn’t he just- assume? Like, they’ve been kissing, what, does Hermann think he’s straight? And- Wow. Rude. Doesn’t he just look sorta gay? (Not gay in the homosexual way, but the idiomatic way, because “pan” doesn’t have the same ring to it, and that’s a whole different barrel of fish.) He’s gotta step up his game, apparently. He’s a little annoyed, too, because Hermann is about fifty shades of uncomfortable, and he’s not sure he wants to deal with what Hermann’s reaction to this is going to be. If he’s gross about it, Newt is definitely kicking him out, and that’ll be the end of it. 

Still, he can find the humor in this sort of situation. Even Hermann’s discomfort is a little funny. Newt is sure that daring to ask anyone _private_ things about themself just makes Hermann’s skin crawl, regardless of whether it has to do with their sexual orientation. 

“I’m not gay, exactly,” he says. “I’m pansexual.”

He’s expecting- Well, several different possibilities. He’s not really expecting Hermann to lift his head and look at him blankly. “I don’t really know what that is,” he says. 

Tendo needs to step up _his_ game too, apparently. His best friend doesn’t know what pansexual means. Tsk tsk. 

And oh, he always hates trying to explain it, it’s one of those things that just makes sense to him but is very difficult to put into words. He’s explained it a couple of times now - to his dad and uncle, to his mom, to a few friends - and this time, just like every time, he stumbles through it, trying to find the line between bi and pan, between not slut shaming but not making himself sound like he’s constantly horny, and even as he speaks he’s sure he’s fucking this up and this is- a really great first intro for a guy that can’t even say the word “boyfriend”- He feels the desperate need to apologize to pansexual people everywhere-

“No, I think I get it,” Hermann says calmly. 

Newt stares at him. He does? No way he does. He’s gotta be disgusted. And any second now, he’s gonna make the fricking pan joke. Even his dad made the pan joke, and Newt laughed it off but secretly he was kinda mad. Or he’s gonna be disgusted by it. Slut shame him. Or just say it’s made up. Or disgusted. He’s really expecting disgusted. Hermann’s definitely a prude, so he’s definitely gonna be grossed out that Newt is “attracted to everyone” even though that’s not how it works- 

But he doesn’t say anything, or make any sort of expression other than thoughtful, as if he’s actually seriously considering what Newt said. 

“Well? Aren’t you gonna tell me that that’s not a real thing, or that it makes me slutty, or at least make the stupid ‘does that mean you wanna fuck pans’ joke?” he demands at last, prickling all over with discomfort. He doesn’t want Hermann to say that- oh, fuck, he really doesn’t want that, and that’s bad, that means he’s started to let himself expect things of Hermann and that’s really a bad idea in this situation- he doesn’t want Hermann to say anything awful, but just waiting for it and worrying that he’s thinking it is worse. 

“What? No, why would I? If you say that’s what you are, that’s good enough evidence for me,” Hermann says (and some other stuff, but Newt doesn’t pay attention to the rest.)

Because- What? 

He’s just being- chill? Pretty cool, actually? And like he really means it. What- the fuck? If he’s just cool with _that_ , then how the hell is Newt supposed to explain everything else he did? How can he be uncomfortable with being kissed by a boy, with saying the word “boyfriend,” how can he apparently be uncomfortable with being _gay_ , yet be completely fine and cool with Newt being pan?

“I thought you’d be weird about it,” he says slowly. 

Hermann scowls and clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Why?” he snaps. “You know that Tendo is bi, right, that doesn’t bother me, so why should you be any different?”

It’s sort of the “No, it’s cool, I have a gay friend” defense, but it’s also sort of fair. Newt had thought that was a little odd, but he’d assumed that Hermann didn’t know that Tendo was bi, or was being willfully ignorant of it, or had rationalized it away, or something. People are willing to forgive things in a friend that they can’t forgive in strangers. But Newt highly doubts that would extend to _him_. Maybe they can be friends, but he doesn’t think they are yet. He’s certain Hermann doesn’t think so. And yet he’s being cool about it. 

So- where does that leave him? That kind of destroys all his previous assumptions. 

“I don’t get you. I thought I had you figured out, but nope, I don’t get you at all,” Newt says, shaking his head. Maybe it’s some internalized stuff going? Like, he can handle it in other people but not himself? Hell, he doesn’t fucking know anymore. Does it even matter?

It kinda does, but he’s not sure why. He just doesn’t fucking get him. 

But it’s easier. To drop it. Talk about other things. Argue about other things. Newt wonders if Hermann is always this irritable, or if it’s something about being around him. He’s cute when he gets all mad, though. (Shit. Stop thinking he’s cute.) And it’s easy to argue with him, easy to talk with him, easier than it is to try and figure out what’s going on in that weird head of his. Easier to make silly plans to go see a movie for his birthday, easier to play video games with him. 

And it’s so, so, so much easier, just as soon as Illia leaves, to pin him down on the couch and kiss him. Only two or three times now, and kissing him is so easy, feels so right, that he doesn’t even think twice about being a little more aggressive.

He’d stop immediately if he thought Hermann was the least bit not into it, of course. But it’s not like that. He parts his lips right away and puts his arms around Newt’s neck and tugs him closer and makes this little- this sort of ridiculous little sound- it’s so him- Like _hrmph_! But really pleased. And then they kiss for longer than Newt can keep track of, because all he’s aware of is Hermann. Not just- Not just the whole kissing thing, like the previous times, but the way that Hermann is positioned under him, how small he is, how thin, how close to Newt, Newt can feel his body heat. And everywhere they are touching, or even where the warmth of Hermann’s body is touching him, he’s so aware of all those parts of his body. In a good way. Not the awkward, what am I doing with my hands sort of way, but a nice, warm, tingly way. He’d felt that before, with other people, but not often. Not for a while now. And he’s thinking, too, about Hermann’s smug grin when he won, and how Newt was half expecting him to say “I say!” or call him “chap,” at any second, he was being so damn British, somehow, even though he’s apparently German. And it’s good, and fucking hot, and it’s easy. 

There is, of course, the bit afterward where Hermann stammers about it being “fine” when Newt asks, and then wriggles out from under him and runs away to the bathroom and doesn’t come out again for at least five minutes. And Newt’s heart stops a little bit, thinking that he crossed a line and fucked up and he’s awful and Hermann is never gonna wanna come back and that’s...awful too. Newt always tries to be all about consent, but he vows in that moment to be even _more_ about it, to never even kiss or touch someone without explicit consent ever again. 

But then Hermann comes back looking sheepish and mumbles something indistinct about Newt not needing to apologize and it not being bad at all, really, actually it was- he trails off but Newt thinks he might say something about it being “good.” Oh. He was just embarrassed. A little overwhelmed, maybe, but not upset, not mad. Just- Embarrassed. 

Newt does not think that’s cute. 

But it’s even easier, after that, to kiss him, and playing games goes a bit to the side in favor of kissing.

 

 

The movie date, Newt realizes later, is where it all really starts to go wrong. For a whole list of reasons. 

Because, first off, he sends Hermann a text the day before reminding him of the movie. Only he calls it a _date_. He actually uses that word. Date. He doesn’t know why, it’s just what he types out without even thinking, and he hits send, and puts his phone down, and thinks nothing of it, and then Hermann responds a few minutes later and he glances at his own text and sees “date.” 

It’s not like- _a date_. That’s not what he meant. He meant it in the literal sense, like, an arranged meeting on a certain date. (Is that the literal meaning? He’s choosing to believe it is.) He meant like, a play date or whatever. Yeah. Hermann gets that, right? And like, who cares if Hermann gets it or doesn’t get or whatever, because, well, whatever. Yeah. But he gets it, right? 

And then second, the actual day of the movie, he and his dad pull up in front of Hermann’s house, and it takes Hermann a little longer than Newt expected to come out, but when he does come out, he looks, for the first time, as if he’s aware that fashion is a thing that exists.

He is not, you understand, actually _fashionable_ , but it looks like an attempt was made, a not entirely unsuccessful attempt. That silly little cowlick isn’t standing up on the back of his head, for once, and he’s wearing jeans that aren’t ridiculously short or long on him - still a little long, but not ridiculously so - and both the jeans and his long sleeved shirt are in shades of gray and black, and that looks good on him. Maybe because he’s dark haired but so pale. It accentuates his weird bone structure, and- bone structure. Who the hell notices things like bone structure? He looks nice, that’s what Newt wants to say, he looks good. 

Third is that Hermann gets in the car and he’s like...really polite to Newt’s dad. It’s not that he’s surprised that Hermann can be polite, just as he wasn’t surprised that Hermann can be rude. There’s that house, and there’s the way he constantly carries himself as if he’s got a stick up his ass, and talks like he is required to use fifty cent words. But he’s never really been polite to Newt, which maybe makes sense since Newt began their acquaintance by freaking him out. They’ve always bickered and sniped at each other. Newt doesn’t even realize how much he enjoys that until Hermann is so totally, perfectly polite to his dad, and it kinda creeps him out. 

Jacob, on the other hand, obviously eats it up. Acts like none of Newt’s other friends have ever been nice or polite to him, which is BS because he’s met Tendo at least once and Tendo is always charming. Still, though, he’s obviously pleased, and kind of gives Newt a look, an unreadable look, or rather a look he decidedly doesn’t want to read ,and it makes him feel weird. Not...Not bad. In fact, he finds himself prompting Hermann to say things he knows will make him sound clever, as if he wants to show Hermann off or whatever, prove that he’s smart. But there’s also a bit of a prickle to it. Is he deceiving his dad? Acting like Hermann is his friend, when that isn’t entirely what’s going on here. What will his dad think if things don’t pan out with Hermann and he never sees Hermann again? And why bother to impress his dad, if that outcome is likely? And why is he, despite all that, pleased that his dad seems to like him? But also embarrassed? It’s just a weird feeling. 

Fourth is the actual kiss in the theater. He hadn’t been sure it would happen. He was hoping it would, but of course he wasn’t going to force Hermann into it. And Hermann is definitely flustered and embarrassed and protests in this squeaky, indignant little whisper that is definitely not cute. Just- Impressive. The vocal range on him! He has that absurd growl when he’s angry, a crisp, light voice when he’s comfortable or happy, and a rising pitch when he’s nervous. And then the accent, of course, Newt doesn’t know enough about British accents to know if he has a posh one or not, but he certainly thinks it sounds posh, to an American. (Posh. He loves that word.) 

Anyway. 

He’s sitting back in the plush chair in the dim theater, thinking that it’s not going to happen after all, but at least they’ll get to watch a movie together, when suddenly Hermann makes a sudden movement at his side, a sort of abrupt lunge. Newt thinks he’s dropped something at first, perhaps, but instead, Hermann’s mouth bumps awkwardly into his cheek, a few inches away from his mouth. 

Hermann immediately draws back, and looks absolutely mortified, of course, and okay, okay, okay okay okay maybe that was a _little_ cute, but also really funny, and Newt says, “Well, okay then,” and finishes what Hermann was awkwardly trying to start.

As for the kiss itself, suffice it to say that, even considering the really hot kisses of the video game playing da- _experiment trial_ , this is probably the best kiss they’ve had so far. Maybe the best kiss he’s had...ever.

Good enough that when a corner of his mind tries to think of a better one, Kaylee doesn’t even come to mind. 

Four is pretty bad, really bad, but worst of all is probably five. Maybe six. No. Definitely five. The fifth thing is definitely the worst thing. 

Because the movie ends. The movie was really good and absorbing and even mostly kept him from thinking about that really great kiss, but it ends. And they go strolling out together into the sunshine, both blinking and looking up at the sky with vague surprise, as if expecting it to be night even though it’s still the middle of the day. Somehow Newt always expects it to be night when he comes out of a movie theater. 

It’s warm, what with the sunshine and all, so they sit down on the low, sloping stone steps leading up to the movie theater to wait for Newt’s dad. They talk about the movie, of course. Or, actually, for once, mostly Hermann talks. Newt is sure he’s gone off on a few rants about random stuff himself, and he and Hermann have conversed a lot, but he thinks this might be the first time Hermann has mostly dominated the conversation. Newt likes talking - likes talking a _lot_ \- but this time he’s content to just listen. 

Because Hermann is just, like...into it. He starts talking about the effects in the movie, and how they seemed really accurate to real life, and the physics of it. He’s not being critical at all, which Newt bets is pretty rare for him. No, he’s genuinely pleased, excited about it, leaning back on the steps with his body angled toward Newt, his face half turned to the sun, punctuating certain remarks with expansive hand gestures, and he’s- Smiling. 

Newt _has_ seen him smile before, by now. Sometimes after they kiss, if Newt’s done a really good job of it, Hermann’ll have a small, slightly dazed smile. Sometimes when they argue and he thinks Newt is being unbearably wrong, he’ll get a sort of condescending smirk, as if he’s explaining something to a very precocious and ignorant child. When they played games last time, whenever he won, he would get this smug, victorious grin. And Newt, to be perfectly honest, liked all of those. But there’s been nothing like this before. 

He’s always been so...uptight. Always seemed so uncomfortable. That sort of thing isn’t hard to read in body language, even for Newt, who isn’t always so good on picking up what other people are feeling. But the narrowed eyes, the hunched shoulders, the crossed arms, the hands clenched in fists, or flexing, or tapping out rapid patterns. The sitting very upright on beds or couches, with a set distance between himself or Newt or whoever else, as at the party. Always as if he was trying to make himself smaller, or hide himself, or just defend himself from the outside world. Not like he was scared, just nervous. Uncomfortable. Even in his own skin. Newt could make it go away sometimes, before. Kissing was pretty good for that, he’d go all limp, like he was melting. Newt likes that plenty, don’t get him wrong, but now, in retrospect, that almost seems like cheating. Anyone - no, not anyone - but most people, most people would melt like that after a good kiss. And Hermann would usually stiffen up again after a few minutes. Maybe that was the reason playing the game was so fun. Hermann had started to relax, from that. But still, it’s never been like this before. He’s always been either at least a little uptight, or been kissed senseless, and senseless just really doesn’t count. Even when he was smiling, he was a little nervous, a little uncomfortable. 

This is surely the first time Newt has seen him genuinely relaxed and happy. This is surely the first genuine smile. 

It’s a nice smile. A really dorky smile, but that makes sense for Hermann. But he has one of those smiles that just changes a person’s face. Lights them up. Not an external light, Newt is sure, but a light that was within him the whole time. The smile spreads across his whole face, and oh, that’s the value of a wide mouth. It crinkles noticeably at the corner of his eyes, his eyes actually even half close, Newt wonders if they would close all the way if he laughed - god, he’s never seen Hermann laugh, and now he wants to - and he practically looks like an emoticon, and it’s ridiculous, and completely sweet. He looks like a completely different person, or perhaps like himself, but a different version of himself, a hidden version, a secret version, a version that Newt is sure he rarely lets others see. Getting to see that version of him; it feels like a privilege. 

It makes him feel...weird. 

And then a second later it’s gone. Hermann says, “Why are you staring at me like that?” and the smile disappears, his arms cross over his chest, his shoulders hunch, and the familiar Hermann Gottlieb, the one he saw at that party, is glaring at him. 

“I’m not staring at you!” he says loudly, but he was. And he feels weird.

Six is kind of bad too. Hermann doesn’t relax back to that sunny smile of before, but when they get onto a different topic, he loosens up ever so slowly. So of course Newt has to push that by asking why his family isn’t celebrating his birthday. Even though Hermann already demonstrated clear discomfort on the topic of his family the one or two other times it came up. 

But for some reason this time, he actually tells Newt something about himself. 

“My mum really liked holidays and celebrating, and so I think, after she died, Dad just...He gave up...It feels hollow without her anyway.”

Newt had...kind of suspected there must be something going on with his mom. He’d never mentioned her before at all. He’d mentioned a father, siblings, but no mother. But Newt thought maybe it was something like his own situation. A split, estrangement, maybe a messy divorce, custody issues perhaps. He knows how much he hates it when people ask him about his own mother, so he hadn’t said anything. He’s not completely insensitive, after all. 

But dead, though. That sucks. Obviously. The sort of sucky where “sucks” is obviously not a good enough word but it’s impossible to think of one that is. Hermann’s face is as far from the smile now as Newt can imagine, almost blank except for the small frown tugging at his mouth. He’s drawn in on himself even more than before, and Newt is sure she must have died not so long ago - he said the moved here about four years ago, right? Maybe that’s why - because there’s still something raw about the quiet pain in his face. There’s something awful tugging at Newt’s heart. 

“Did...Did I bring up, um, painful stuff by making you hang out today?” he asks quietly. That was the exact _opposite_ of what he wanted. God damn it. Maybe he’s been horribly insensitive. He’s always so insensitive. He should have _thought_ about why Hermann’s family doesn’t do holiday stuff, instead of just barging in and doing what he wanted without considering Hermann’s feelings. God. He’s always like this. He’s so selfish. Oh, what if he hurt Hermann?

Six is bad too because the thought that he might have hurt Hermann is genuinely upsetting. 

But Hermann starts and says sincerely, “What? No, no, not at all! I enjoyed myself, really!” 

Seven is the relief he feels over that. Eight is the way that, after that, they go back to talking about the movie, arguing about it again, and yell at each other all the way back to Hermann’s house - or, Newt yells, Hermann seems to be restraining himself out of politeness again - and Newt is grinning the whole time and notices, now, the way that the corners of Hermann’s eyes crinkle even as he spits out comebacks like he’s never spoken to anyone as unbearable as Newt. 

And nine...is kinda bad too. Nine is the way that he can’t stop happily thinking for the rest of the day about the movie _experiment trial_. He grins all through dinner, especially when Illia - who once again showed up without any warning, but that’s pretty typical for dinner time - asks him how the movie was. _Especially_ when Jacob remarks, “You know, I liked that friend of yours. He seemed like a very nice boy. Will you be seeing him again?”

Even seeing the looks his dad and uncle exchange can’t dampen the mood, although he does sigh and say, “It’s not like that, okay.”

 

 

Newt tried really hard to make new friends in college. He’s never been exactly good at friendship. It’s not so much the making friends that’s the hard part, although it isn’t exactly easy. Still, he’s fairly shameless about striking up conversations with random people, and that’s about seventy five percent of making friends, and people often think that he’s interesting at first, what with the kid genius thing and love of music and trashy sci fi and weird jokes. At first. At first is usually okay-ish. It’s the bits that come after that suck. The part where you try to stay friends. He’s not so good at that. He tries, he does, but then, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he tries too hard. 

And it didn’t exactly help, in high school, that he was way younger than everyone else. High school is clique-y enough, unforgiving of differences and weirdness enough, that he’d probably have been an odd man out without being two or three years younger than most people. It was a little better as an upperclassmen, because then he was the same age as the freshman and sophomores and didn’t stand out as much, but it was still a little bit weird, it was still hard, he still mostly had acquaintances rather than friends. 

So he tried really hard when he got to college. He thought things would be different. People would be more mature, they wouldn’t care as much about age, right? And the focus would be on intellectual stuff, academia, so he wouldn’t be as weird for being a nerd and loving science. And college is about discovering yourself, embracing differences, being weird while you can before you have to grow up, so it would be okay that he was different, it would be _good_. And he would make friends. He would try really hard this time. He’d dial back- everything. All the stuff about him that drives people away. The loudness and weirdness and the feelings that were always too intense, too much. He wouldn’t be too much. And he’d make friends. 

That’s what he thought. 

God. He’s just- He’s still such a child, isn’t he? He realizes it now. He tried so hard, but he was being so ridiculous, so embarrassing, and- He’s realizing at last what he probably should have realized first semester. 

That’s when he met Kaylee. And all her friends. Who he thought were his friends. He was trying so hard to be friends with them. And he thinks they were basically just screwing around with him the whole time, letting himself make an ass of himself, maybe even provoking him into making an ass of himself. 

The whole thing is just completely ridiculous, it’s just like, they ran hot and cold with him all year. Sometimes they’d talk to him every day, hang out with him, invite him to parties. Other times it would be like they forget he existed. And of course, they always denied that they did that, and acted like he was being childish if he pointed it out, and he thought maybe he really was being oversensitive. But in the weeks leading up to finals they talked to him a lot, and he’d thought maybe it was _finally_ working out. Only then he realized they just wanted, like, to read his notes and labs and get him to explain all the complicated stuff. They weren’t into him, just his...brain, he guesses. And when he tried to say something about that, to Kaylee, of course, because he’d always thought she was the nicest, always thought that she, at least, might actually genuinely like him; she’d made vague noises at him about how it wasn’t like that, no, of course they actually liked him, but...wasn’t it kind of selfish of him to not help his _friends_? Just to help them study. 

But it wasn’t just studying, they practically wanted all the answers.

And when he said that, she said vaguely, “Oh, I’ll talk to the others…” 

And then of course they basically all stopped talking to Newt. 

Thus why he wanted to make new friends at Tendo’s party.

But he was still trying to convince himself it was just a misunderstanding, and he messaged Kaylee a bunch of times after the semester ended, but she barely ever answered him back. (One of the few times she did, he was actually at Hermann’s house, post kissing, in the midst of watching something or other, and he felt...weird, about that, though it wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong, Kaylee had always made it clear there was nothing committed or exclusive between them, but for some reason he still tried really hard to hide that his phone had gone off. Hermann didn’t even notice.) And then, finally, one particular night, he’s messing around on facebook, and all of that crew are posting statuses talking about how great that party at Rashid’s house had been, and, like...Rashid was his lab partner. And he literally lives five minutes away from Newt’s house. But no one invited him. 

He gets it, at last. He _can_ take a message. Maybe it has to be sent like, fifty times, really hammered in, but he’ll get it eventually. Or maybe it’s more like this is the last straw. Or maybe he’s still just being childish and over sensitive. God, he suddenly feels so young compared to the rest of them. Kaylee’s only about a year older than him, a year and a half, maybe, but he feels horribly young and foolish. He gets it. They never really wanted to be friends with him. He was just, like always, that weirdo genius kid. Who talks too much and too loudly. Who is _always_ too much and too loud. Who gets way too excited about glowing bacteria - but gene splicing is so awesome! - and music and monsters. (They called him Frankenstein, for a while. Because they said he was going to make a monster. He took that as a compliment. Maybe he shouldn’t have.) They were- oh, he always knew, didn’t he? That they were laughing at him. He wanted to pretend they were laughing with him. And being laughed at, that at least means people are paying attention to you, right? Sometimes he feels like he’ll disappear if people don’t pay attention to him. It’s so unfair. His only options are to be ignored or to be laughed at. He doesn’t want to be that person, he always has to be the weird genius kid who is going places but has to go there alone, the kid who is always laughed at, always kept apart, both above and below everyone else, and he hates it. That’s not who he is, is he? Why does he have to be that person? He hates that person, and if he is that person, if he really is that person after all, then he hates himself. No wonder no one ever likes him. It’s not fair. 

He feels so lonely, so ungodly lonely, it’s like a stabbing pain in his chest and mind, every stuttering breath drives little splinters into his heart and lungs, it hurts and there’s a frantic need to do something to make it stop hurting, anything, anything that will distract, but nothing is good enough, how can he watch tv or read or do anything when he feels like this- and- god. It’s not like he’s never felt this way before. He has. The frantic, unbearable loneliness, or self loathing, or wordless pain, or worst of all, the horrible, consuming numbness. Everything else bad, all the other bad feelings, they threaten the arrival numb feeling, and that makes the urgent desire to do something to make the pain go away even more urgent, because he doesn’t want to feel the numbness, he hates it, he hates his fucking brain that makes him feel like this, he hates his personality that makes him feel like this, he hates his mom for giving him the genes that make him feel like this, he just wants it to stop stop stop stop-

And sometimes when he feels like this, he knows, he does bad things to make it stop feeling like that. His therapist is always talking to him about finding healthy coping mechanisms, but the hard part is that it’s easy to think of coping mechanisms when he feels okay, but hard to remember them when he feels like this. Ah. Fuck. He doesn’t want to do anything bad. Well, he sort of does, but he also doesn’t, because his dad always gets so upset, and it just proves him right, he always acts like Newt’s brain stuff totally controls him, and it’s not _true_ , it’s not _fair_ , that’s not who he _is_ \- but when he does something bad, that proves him right. But. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck- coping mechanisms- what- music- it’s the middle of the night- drawing- he doesn’t wanna move- talk to a friend- what friend- he doesn’t have any friends- that’s the problem- as soon as he thinks of that one he wants it, that would make the loneliness go away, but _what friends_ \- who could he talk to- who does he want to talk to- Hermann. 

Newt’s impulse control isn’t very good. Thus why the bad things happen, sometimes. It seems like no sooner does he think Hermann’s name, then Hermann’s voice is mumbling, “H’lo?” in his ear. 

And he should really realize then, the bad thing that is going on. The other bad thing. The bad thing with Hermann, which is very different from the bad thing with Kaylee and the others. He should realize, because he just sort of cries and whines and says a bunch of random stuff, a probably incomprehensible outpouring of his feelings, and Hermann-

Who is impatient and grumpy and doesn’t like people-

Just listens, and doesn’t tell him that he’s wrong, or overreacting, or being childish. He listens, and he doesn’t give any advice (which, okay, is probably because, as he says, he’s not good at making friends either), and he says sincerely, “That’s awful,” and he says, “I understand,” and he says, “I don’t hate you,” and it’s so hard to believe sometimes, that not everyone hates him, but it’s also hard to imagine Hermann lying about that, Hermann is definitely the sort of person who lets people know when he hates them, and he says, “We’re friends,” and slowly, slowly the awful, clawing, loneliness eases. He even actually starts to feel- not just “not bad” but even a little bit… “okay.” And he should realize then, what’s starting to happen. 

But he doesn’t, and instead Hermann lets him continue to talk, about other stuff now, about not painful stuff, cool stuff, about how glowing kittens might let them cure AIDS. Hermann says, at first, “Yes,” and “Oh.” Then it just starts being, “Mm.” Then it’s just nothing at all, other than a faint sound of slow, quiet breathing. 

“Hermann? Are you awake? Did you fall asleep?”

Still nothing. Newt giggles softly - it feels nice to be able to laugh - and then quiets and...it’s not weird, right? To listen to the sound of your friend sleeping? That’s not weird. He’s not doing anything, Hermann is just breathing slowly and it’s a really soothing sound. Learning to control your breathing can help control your emotions, after all, and Newt is out of the bad place now, at least mostly, but that doesn’t mean that matching his inhales and exhales to Hermann’s can’t help him calm down a little bit. And it’s like, a connection. Hermann’s soft breathing in his ear. He can close his eyes and pretend Hermann is right there next to him. He can practically feel the warmth of his body. Hermann would probably fit in bed next to him perfectly. Newt’s bed is small, but Hermann is so skinny, he’s taller than Newt but nonetheless he’s so narrow that Newt can’t help but think of him as small. He could probably slot in perfectly next to Newt, curl up against his side, small breaths tickling against Newt’s cheek. Hermann makes a tiny little snuffling sound on the phone, and god, that’s cute. How could he possibly feel lonely when Hermann is right here next to him? And what does he look like when he sleeps? After that smile, Newt bets it’s adorable. His face probably gets all relaxed and vulnerable and soft so that you can see he’s secretly a nice person, way down deep. You could just lean over and kiss his cheek, maybe, he’d probably be so cute that you’d have to. And then maybe he’d start to wake up and you could kiss him to get him to wake up the rest of the way, and then they could just lie in Newt’s bed, sleepily kissing, maybe slipping hands up each other’s shirts…

Ah. Okay. Now it’s weird. Newt hastily hangs up, and then texts Hermann _I think you fell asleep as I was talkin haha_ and then pulls up netflix on his computer so that he doesn’t think about...anything else. About Kaylee or about Hermann or about anything at all. So maybe that’s why he doesn’t realize what’s going on. 

 

 

But he doesn’t realize it the next time he sees Hermann either, when Newt meets his little brother who literally looks like he comes from a Renaissance painting of angels and cherubs, and Hermann admits that he (the brother) is cute as if it annoys him, and he and Hermann talk about family a bit - Hermann obviously loves his siblings and obviously would deny that with his dying breath - and Hermann’s dad sounds like a jerk, to be honest, and then he gets ice cream on his face and Newt maybe licks him a little bit. Hermann seems to overheat a bit, Newt is half-worried he’ll explode or something. But he doesn’t realize it.

 

 

Not until the next time. With the black eye. And the bruises down his side. And the lying. And the shouting. And finding out he’s being bullied. And Hermann crying. Only then he it turns out he isn’t crying. But it looked like he was, at first. And Newt can’t do anything to make it better, all he can do is leave, leave Hermann sitting there on his couch, arms wrapped around himself as if he is physically trying to hold himself together. It seems really obvious after all of that. 

He lets himself out of Hermann’s front door and gets on his bike and slowly begins the ride home. It’s hot out, humid, the air thick and slow against his skin. He can hear voices in the distance, children, fresh out of school, maybe, but there’s no one in sight, just the empty suburban street. 

There’s a little park on the edge of Hermann’s subdivision. Not as nice as he would have expected for Hermann’s subdivision. Not not-nice, of course, just modest. A shallow little pond with ducks and guppies and reeds growing on one edge, a smallish playground set, swings, and a smooth spread of green lawn with scuff marks where you can tell people have been playing soccer. It is, surprisingly, empty, and Newt’s hot, and his house is still about a mile off, a little less, and he doesn’t really feel like going home. He needs to think. He locks his bike against a tree and trudges across the grass to the swings and plops down in one, half heartedly pushing his foot against the ground to swing him jerkily back and forth. 

He’d really thought Hermann was crying. When he shouted, “Because it’s pathetic!” and then put his hands over his face and stood very still, other than his shoulders, which were shaking. Newt had thought he was crying. It had been awful. 

He hadn’t known what to do. Instinct was telling him to get up, to touch him, hug him, tell him it was okay, pull his hands away from his face, wipe away his tears, tell him that he wasn’t pathetic. (If that was what he meant. What did he mean? Pathetic? Did he mean that he’s pathetic? Why on earth would he say that?) But Hermann’s body language was also so closed off, he’d taken several steps away from Newt and he was literally closing himself off with his arms in front of himself like that. And Hermann is clearly one of those people that doesn’t like being touched without permission, and Newt had already touched him once without permission that day, yanking his shirt up like that, he should not have done that, he knows it, he just sort of freaked out when Hermann, with a black eye, said “Ow!” when Newt touched his side. So he also thought he shouldn’t touch Hermann. And he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know the right thing to say. He didn’t know if he should say anything at all or if he should just stay quiet. 

So he hadn’t done anything. He’d sat there, as if he was anchored down, glued to the couch. Helpless. Watching Hermann cry. He’d never seen someone he liked cry before.

And then he thought, oh.

Because of course, he liked Hermann. He had feelings for Hermann. Why else would this hurt so much, watching Hermann cry? Why else would he want to kiss away his tears? 

Now, he kicks the ground and mutters, “Shit.” 

Of course he likes Hermann. He always finds a way to fuck shit up, it’s like his greatest talent. He ruins everything. He had a good thing here, getting to make out with a cute weirdo nerd that he could also talk to about weirdo nerd stuff. So of course he did the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do, and had to go and get gross romantic feelings for him. He’s so- He always falls for the worst people. Of course he fell for Hermann. 

And there’s just no way, right? There is no level on which this makes sense. Hermann is totally impossible from every angle he can think of. First off, there’s the whole thing where he’s either straight or super deeply into the closet. Second off, there’s the thing where at best he maybe considers Newt a friend, and at worst, thinks Newt is the annoying asshole who embarrassed him at a party in front of everyone. Third, there’s that they’ve only known each other a few weeks. Fourth, there’s the fact that-

That Hermann doesn’t even trust him enough to tell him the truth. He lied. He told Newt he’d just walked into- whatever that terrible lie was. A door, or whatever. Newt doesn’t understand why he lied. It hurts, more than he would expect. He told Hermann all that embarrassing stuff before, but Hermann is clearly still...holding things back. Well, whatever is going on with the experiment, of course, but now he realizes there’s more than that. 

He thinks of the party again, of the way that Hermann looked after he kissed him. It wasn’t the same, really. There, he’d been so blank, so shocked. And here, when he said, “It’s pathetic!” when he pulled his hands away from his face - revealing he hadn’t actually been crying - it had been more like pain. Or something very like that. And yet, there are certain similarities. Like something was being- Oh, he hadn’t really noticed it at the party, at the time, but after today, and after getting to know Hermann better, he thinks he sees it. There was something being held back. Some emotion, or something else, trying to break free. And he was trying hard to hold it back, to contain it. Some great, painful thing within him. 

Newt hadn’t felt right about leaving. But he hadn’t known what else to do. It had been obvious that Hermann wanted him to leave. He barely even hesitated when Newt asked him. Newt is sure it was because, at least partially, he didn’t want Newt to see whatever painful emotion it was he was holding back. It felt wrong leaving him alone when he was so upset - Newt hates being alone when _he’s_ upset - but also...well, how the hell are you supposed to act when you suddenly realize you have feelings for the person you’re with? Probably not the best mindset to be in for comforting someone. Even kissing him before leaving, that was too much, right? He’d just...wanted so badly to kiss him. And he thought maybe a tender kiss, a caring one, would make him feel better when (if?) he was feeling bad about himself. But surely that was too much. Right? 

Newt wishes he could just stop thinking. This whole experiment, he’s just thought way too much. It’s just that- Hermann is such a mystery. Newt keeps thinking that he knows what’s going on with him, and then finding out he’s wrong. It’s like he has all these bits and pieces of Hermann and he can’t quite get them to fit together into a cohesive whole. Even today. He wasn’t expecting any of what he saw today. That Hermann is being bullied- Well, maybe it should be surprising. Newt was bullied a bit too in high school, and he imagines Hermann is probably bullied for similar reasons. Being too clever. Smart mouth. Not fitting in, not being like everyone else. The simple disadvantage of being on the smaller side. Plus Hermann is so stubborn, so uncompromising, and so willing to let people know when he doesn’t like them. That surely doesn’t help. Nonetheless, Newt was, and is, surprised, particularly that it’s so severe. No one ever beat the crap out of Newt, they were just mean and pushed him around a bit. And Hermann is so tough, so decidedly himself, that the concept of him being a victim seems out of place. Newt knows that’s unfair, even a little bit fucked up, as if he’s saying that people who are hurt by others are asking for it or something, and obviously that’s not true, but still. Hermann being bullied seems weird. 

"I’d fight if I could," he said that too. Newt has absolutely no doubt it’s true. 

And Hermann lying about it. As if he was ashamed. And his reaction when he confessed. Those awful moments when Newt thought he was crying. The painful thing he is holding back. Newt hadn’t thought...that he had feelings like that. 

He pushes off harder against the ground and scowls. At himself, now. Like he’s got the monopoly on feeling bad or something. Of course Hermann has feelings like that. Everyone does. Everyone has painful things inside of them. It’s just, when Hermann said “I understand,” the other day, on the phone, Newt had sort of assumed he was just saying that. People usually are. But now, he wonders. Maybe Hermann does understand. 

It makes him sad. He doesn’t really want Hermann to. He seems - again, Newt thinks this - so tough on the outside, so collected, or maybe collected isn’t quite the word, with his temper, but something like that. But maybe he’s a mess just like Newt is. And he doesn’t really want that for him, because it sucks being a mess. 

Maybe Hermann is a mess. He’s definitely complicated. Newt still doesn’t understand him, not a bit. He’s sure, after today, that there’s a lot about Hermann that he still doesn’t know. But. Oh. He really wants to. He really wants to know everything about Hermann. The result of the experiment. The painful thing he’s holding back. Who he really is. 

He wants to see Hermann right now. Is he okay? He wants to see him. He wants to go back to Hermann’s house. 

God. Fuck. This is the worst. He really likes him. He really, really likes him. He stops pushing against the ground, lets the swing slow down, and lets go of the chains so that he can put his head in his hands. “Fuck,” he mumbles. 

When he looks up a moment later, there’s a pair of ten year olds staring at him with big eyes. 

“Oh. Shi- I mean- You didn’t hear that,” he says hastily, and decides he’d better leave the park before more children show up and he can be reported for being some sort of cursing freak. 

 

 

It’s not too late, right? Like, okay, he’s got a ridiculous crush. But it’s just a crush, he gets those all the time! So yeah, okay, he lies awake that night and can’t stop thinking about Hermann and it makes his heart go all fluttery like he’s some kind of shoujo manga heroine. And he’s worried all night about whether Hermann is still upset. And he can’t stop thinking about his smile at the fricking movie date, because that’s definitely - probably - when he started to like Hermann. Where this whole absurd experiment began to go wrong. And the memory of that smile makes _him_ smile, and it’s all pathetic and cliche and why does he always do this? He always gets all tingly over people that he has no chance with, people that either don’t like him as much as he likes them, or just don’t like him at all. Which of course they are totally allowed to do and if Hermann even wants to stay friends he’ll be happy and grateful. But it also sucks, always having feelings for people that don’t return them sucks, what’s wrong with him?

Of course, he doesn’t really _know_ whether or not Hermann does or could return his feelings. It’s just that- That it seems really fucking unlikely. Half the time he’s not even sure whether Hermann considers him a friend yet. Rather than hope that Hermann likes him against the odds, it seems like a much better idea to...not like him. 

It doesn’t have to be too late. He can make it go away before it gets weird, before it ruins everything. He won’t let it show, for one thing. Fake it till you make it. And he’ll try to- to crush it, basically. Pun intended. Sure, he’s never been really good at controlling his feelings or making them do what he wanted before, but this is just a silly little crush. He’ll rip it out of his heart and mind like some ugly weed, and everything will go back to before, and when Hermann has figured out what the heck is going on his head, they’ll be friends, and he’ll forget he ever even had gross icky feelings for Hermann. And most importantly, Hermann will never know. He’s just gotta be cool.

 

 

Of course, he’s totally incapable of being cool, and instead acts like a cold, disinterested jerk to Hermann the next time he sees him, and bikes away from his house feeling terrible and guilty. Especially at the look on his face. God, Hermann was so obviously trying to act like nothing happened, he even apologized for yelling at Newt, and then Newt was so cold to him, he looked so confused, so hurt.

Maybe- Maybe this won’t be so easy as he thought. 

 

 

He doesn’t see Hermann for a few days after that. It’s his finals. (He seemed a little stressed about it. Are they going okay? Newt got the vibe his dad is strict about grades, is that okay? Is he okay?) And he tries not to think about him. Space is good, right? He’ll spend a few days away from Hermann, and he won’t think about him. (Are those assholes at school still bothering him? Jesus, why, why would they do that?) And then he’ll stop having feelings for him, because this is obviously just a shallow little crush that will fade when the object of his affections isn’t before him. 

He plays video games. (How had Hermann never played video games before, other than with Tendo?) He hangs out with his Uncle Illia. (Illia would approve if he dated Hermann, obviously.) He rides his bike to the library. (What kind of books does Hermann like to read? Hard core sci fi probably, but maybe some other “trashier” stuff that he doesn’t like to admit to. Newt gets a kick out of the mental image of him reading space operas.) He looks up cool articles about science on the internet. (There’s an article about the possibilities of extraterrestrial life that he longs to share with Hermann.)

By Sunday, his heart sort of hurts. He wants to see Hermann. He wants to talk to him. He wants-

The thought hits him suddenly. He wants to kiss Hermann. And he doesn’t want it to be for a science experiment. He wants it to be real. He wants to kiss Hermann, not because he wants to kiss someone, but because he wants to kiss _Hermann_. He wants to kiss Hermann and have Hermann want to kiss him back, not just to figure something out, but because he wants to kiss Newt. He wants it to mean something. 

It’s not just a silly little crush, is it? It’s ridiculous, but he has to admit to himself, he thinks he really, properly has a crush on Hermann. He likes him. Genuinely likes him. And he can’t possibly keep this up. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to either of them, in fact. It would be hurtful to him, but he’d also be lying to Hermann, he wouldn’t be carrying out the experiment in good faith. The deal wasn’t “kiss me and get a fucking crush on me,” it was “kiss me, no strings attached.” And of course he went and did the exact opposite and, well, attached strings. Gross strings. Of emotion. Emotion strings. 

And he’s spent too long doing this kind of bullshit. Running around with awkward, confusing feelings for someone, never fully articulated, never quite sure what the other person feels. That’s what he did to Kaylee. And it wasn’t entirely his fault, he thinks now that she was intentionally taking advantage of him, leading him on or whatever, at least at times, but still, he could have cleared it up by saying something, and he didn’t. Maybe that was unfair of him, too, to not be honest to her. He’s not entirely sure. 

But it was bullshit, and he doesn’t want to do it anymore. Not when he’s already sure that he likes Hermann so much more than he ever liked Kaylee. 

 

 

It still takes him a few more days to work up the courage to text Hermann _i think we should talk about the “experiment.” youre done with school tomorrow right? can we talk then?_

Hermann simply texts back, _Yes, we can talk tomorrow_.

Of course, Newt spends the rest of the day panicking over precisely what the hell that means. 

 

 

And then the next day he gets the text from Alison. 

They’ve hung out a few times, him and Alsion. When he was hanging out with Tendo, of course. He always felt a little weird about it (hanging out with Tendo, not Alison). He was sure that Hermann didn’t want him talking to Tendo about all of this. Honestly, he didn’t want to talk to Tendo about it either. _Yeah, your bestie and I are casually makin’ out all the time, doesn’t mean anything though!_ That would go over real great. Whenever Tendo or Alison brought up Hermann, he kinda froze, and he was always worried that he and Hermann were going to end up hanging out with Tendo at the same time and it would turn into some sort of sitcom ridiculous situation of trying to keep it secret. It never happened though, and in fact, Hermann was mentioned only maybe once or twice. He wasn’t sure if that was weird or not. Hermann was supposed to be Tendo’s best friend, right? But then, how often does one really talk about their friends to other friends? Maybe he was just being weird, sensitive. Or maybe Tendo was purposely not bringing him up, in light of the awkwardness at the party. 

Whatever it was, he hung out with them. And he liked Alison. They were fun, weird, silly, a bit terrifying at times. (Alison...really liked fireworks. And fire. In general.) They got on well, him and Alison, and by the end of the second time they hung out, he had their phone number programmed into his cell. 

So there’s the text.

_somethingg rlly bad hapened at school hermann is hrut_

And that’s all. 

He doesn’t even think, really. He doesn’t wonder about the fact that Alison is texting him about Hermann, when so far as Alison knows, he’s interacted with Hermann all of once. He doesn’t question what the appropriate response is. He doesn’t even consider texting Alison back for more information. He just dials Hermann’s number. And when that gets no response, he throws some clothes on - it’s a little shy of noon, he’s still wearing what he wore to bed, by which he means only boxers - shoves his feet into shoes, tears out the door and jumps on his bike and pedals to Hermann’s house as fast as he can. He doesn’t even remember to brush his teeth.

Hermann is hurt? Hurt? Hurt how? What happened? Is he okay, is he okay, is he _okay_? Oh, god, Hermann, is he okay? That’s all he can think, on the hot bike ride over.

There’s no one there when he gets to Hermann’s house, and it takes him a horrible delay to remember that school is still in session and he might just be there. It’s a half day, almost over, but not quite yet. He drops down to sit on the cement, cool in the shade, in front of Hermann’s house, sucking in hot, ragged gasps of air that are mostly due to riding his bike at full speed, and tries to think of what to do. Try calling Hermann again? Call Alison? What else can he do? Try and contact Tendo if he gets really desperate, he supposes. School should be over soon, maybe he should just wait.

He bounces one foot up and down on the pavement. Hurt. Hermann is hurt. What the fuck does that mean? What happened? Hurt how, how badly? Was it- Was it those assholes from school again, oh _god_ , is he okay? In tv shows, when someone goes missing, people call around to local hospitals. Can he do that? Is that even really a thing? Is that overreacting? God, it’s fucking hot out, and that doesn’t help. It’s so bright, even in the shade of the roof overhanging the porch, that it’s a little difficult to read the words on his screen. _Hermann is hrut_. That _does_ mean hurt, right? 

There’s the sound of a car, getting closer, and he looks up automatically. It’s a smallish silver car, not one that he recognizes, not that he would recognize Hermann’s family’s car anyway, there’s never been one out when he visited. It’s coming closer, though, and the person sitting in the passenger seat could be Hermann, could definitely be Hermann. And yes, yes, it’s slowing as it gets nearer, it’s definitely coming here. Yet he’s still sort of surprised when it turns into Hermann’s driveway, passing two feet away from him. He jumps to his feet and goes to the edge of the driveway, back into the unrelenting sunlight, as the car parks and Hermann gets out of the passenger side. Newt is suddenly aware that he’s covered in sweat. That’s not an appropriate thing to think right now, right? 

Hermann is turned away from Newt at first, back to him as he gets out of the car, but the mere sight of him is enough for Newt to go nearly limp with relief. He’s standing up, walking, moving relatively fine - although maybe a little slow? - and the half-formed images of Hermann broken, bloodied, hospitalized, the images in his mind he was carefully not looking at, fall apart. 

Then Hermann turns to look at him, and Newt physically recoils in shock. He knows immediately that he was right to think of the bullying. And it’s- It’s much worse than last time. Maybe not as bad as the awful images in his mind, but then, those were only vague imaginings, and this is real, right in front of him. One of Hermann’s eyes is swelling up, and both are bruised, already turning red and purple and blue, bruising sprawling from his forehead down to his cheeks; his nose is even worse and there’s a little trace of something brownish red on his upper lip that Newt is pretty sure is blood; and his lip itself is split and also swelling a bit. He is, now that Newt is paying attention, definitely moving slower, stiffly. It looks as if he’s barely bending the leg that he usually favors, and he has one arm wrapped around his chest, as if it hurts. 

Newt says something. He doesn’t really know what. Doesn’t matter. He’s barely aware of anything else in the world. Even when the second car door opens, behind Hermann, and someone comes out and over to them, he barely glances over at him, only takes his eyes off Hermann for a few seconds. He’s expecting Hermann’s father, but it clearly isn’t him, not old enough. The man is probably only in his early twenties. He does look a bit like Hermann thought. And then Newt looks back at Hermann. 

Hermann looks...tired, and a little unhappy, under the bruises, but not miserable, or like he’s in some terrible pain; confusion, really, is the strongest emotion. “I’m fine,” he says, and it doesn’t sound the way it did the time before last, when he was obviously lying. Newt’s still not sure if he should believe him, but the tightness in his chest eases slightly. “What are you doing here?” Hermann says, as if that’s more important. 

When Newt tells him - still speaking too fast, still breathless - Hermann actually sighs, as if exasperated, and rolls his eyes a little bit. “I’m fine,” he repeats. 

Newt stammers a reply, his brain still not really functioning. He can’t decide whether to be relieved that Hermann _isn’t_ really seriously injured, or still concerned, or pissed that apparently some assholes from school hurt him again, or sort of internally rubbery from the emotional overload of it all, or something else, or all of the above. Before he can properly decide, the driver of the car, the stranger that looks a little bit like Hermann, discreetly clears his throat. 

“Oh, right,” Hermann says with another sigh. “This is my brother Dietrich. Dietrich, this is Newton Geiszler.” 

Newt looks at him properly. So, this is the older brother. The good one. Why is he here? Was he called to Hermann’s school? Why was it him instead of Hermann’s father? 

He _does_ look like Hermann, but it’s a little difficult to identify in what way. They both have the same sort of angular face, but it’s a little softer in Dietrich, a little blander. He’s mildly good looking, but not the sort of person you would look at twice, not like Hermann. There’s something- not ordinary, perhaps, but quiet about him. Other than that, he’s fair where Hermann is dark, although not as gold haired or blue eyed as the youngest brother, his coloring is paler than that. He’s not what Newt would have imagined Hermann’s brother looking like, although he can say that he’s definitely very German looking, somehow. As for the similarity between the two of them: it must be the posture, Newt decides. Or no, maybe it’s the facial expression. Quiet, as he thought, but there’s still something utterly stubborn there and a tiny bit superior. 

He leaves, after the introduction, and after a little more hesitation - Newt is suddenly uncomfortable, and still worried - Newt and Hermann both go in the house. Newt says, just to have something to say, that they look alike, and- “It’s your face, you’ve both got this look on your face like you’ve never been wrong in your life,” and yeah. That’s it. 

Hermann looks annoyed, and the look intensifies for a second. Like, _how dare you say that._ You’re _wrong, not me_. It makes Newt, despite the concern he still feels to an almost overwhelming extent, want to laugh. A great wave of affection.

Oh, shit, he really likes Hermann. And that, unfortunately, reminds him that they were supposed to talk today. About the experiment. He follows Hermann to his pristine kitchen - all stainless steel fridge and granite countertops, like something from a magazine - and watches carefully as he takes a bag of frozen vegetables from his freezer and presses it to his face, and thinks that there’s no way. He can’t talk about it now. Not with Hermann like this, he couldn’t bear it. What if Hermann is put off by his feelings? No, of course Hermann will be, when he’s still coming to the terms of his own sexuality, whatever that is. And it’s not fair to make him deal with that on top of this, it’s not fair to make him feel bad when he’s probably already feeling bad. He deserves to have Newt comfort him and make him feel better, not worse. 

Hermann flinches as the frozen bag touches his skin, then sort of visibly sighs and relaxes. Although, very carefully. He’s moving very carefully. Not just because of his leg, but like something inside of him hurts. Newt really wants to touch him, but permission, again, and somehow- Somehow he’s scared he would make it worse, like he’d hurt Hermann too. 

“God, what the fuck is wrong with people?” he says violently. “What kind of fucking asshole does that, I-” He doesn’t even know what. Newt is a pacifist, or whatever, violence isn’t the answer and all that, but right now- Right now he could really-

But that doesn’t help anyone. Especially when he doesn’t even know who it was, and it’s not like Hermann is going to tell him. He takes a deep breath and says instead, “I was really worried.” 

Hermann looks down, and- Newt can’t read his face. A moment later he says yet again, “I’m really fine,” and goes back to his bedroom. Newt feels even worse when he watches how careful Hermann is about sitting on his bed, the way he winces and tries to hide it when he lifts up his right leg. He definitely can’t do it today, he just can’t. He doesn’t want to. He wants to stay with Hermann a little longer, he wants to make him feel better. 

“I- I know I said I wanted to talk today, but, I mean, this is clearly not a good time, dude, so, uh, I can wait,” he makes himself say, although even bringing up The Talk, or whatever, feels wrong. 

“No,” Hermann says abruptly. “I’d- rather not wait. I have something I want to say too.” 

Newt’s stomach lurches. Oh. Shit. That’s probably not good. He has something to say too? What could it possibly be? “Um, okay,” he says, and then they both stare at each other silently for several seconds, and then they both try to speak at once. 

Newt laughs and hates himself for it. A nervous reflex. 

Hermann looks sort of pissed, but that might just be because he’s nervous too. Newt has gathered that he glares when he’s uncomfortable. Then again, maybe he is mad. Because Newt laughed. Or a different reason. Maybe Newt did something wrong, and that’s why he wanted to talk. Maybe he somehow figured out that Newt has gross, annoying feelings. But all he says is, “You go first.”

Newt nods several times. He totally can’t do it. He can’t say it. What if this means never seeing Hermann again? What if Hermann doesn’t want to see him outside of the experiment? What if Hermann really is a homophobic asshole after all? Shit, shit, what if? He can’t do it, he can’t say it- 

“About the experiment. I think we should end it.”

Oh. He said it. 

Hermann does not react in any way. That’s a little alarming. 

Well, no going back now, right? He has to explain. He has to. “I-” 

“I was wrong, I should go first,” Hermann says.

“What?”

He’s still- He’s still glaring at Newt, hands balled up into fists at his side. He dropped the ice pack, and it’s sitting at his side, dripping water onto his bed. “I think we should end the experiment too.” 

Oh. He said it. 

What did he say? Wait, Newt thinks blankly. Wait, what did he say? That was Hermann. Saying that. What? He said that they should end it too? What- What- Why did he say that? What?

He can’t _begin_ to think of a response, to begin to put the confusion in his head into words, but Hermann must not be expecting a response, because he continues fixedly, “I’ve figured out why I reacted the way I did to you that first time and all the other times. I understand my feelings now.” 

Newt tries to swallow and can’t quite. His mouth is too dry. “Oh. You do?”

Which will it be, then? Straight and experimenting, or gay/bi/pan/etc and in the closet? Does it matter, even? Well, of course it both does and doesn’t matter, it matters in that knowing your self can be good and helpful and doesn’t matter in that he’s still Hermann, still himself no matter what, and labels aren’t necessary anyway, but what Newt means is, does it matter in regards to _them_? If the experiment is over...But if he’s not straight, then Newt might have a chance, at least…

Hermann nods once, a sharp jerk of his head. “Yes. It’s because…” and then he trails off and, for an instant, the glare disappears, his eyes flicking at last off of Newt’s face. He bites his lip, like he’s looking for the right words, or any words at all. “It’s like you said the other day,” he says, quieter, distant. 

“Wha-”

He doesn’t seem to hear Newt, and carries on talking. “When you called me.” Newt grimaces, but Hermann doesn’t notice that either. Oh, god, Newt barely even remembers what he said, he just _says_ shit when he’s upset, maybe he said something bad and upset him, maybe that’s why he wants to end this too. 

“I know you said you didn’t want to talk about that, but...What you said, about feeling as if there’s a version of you that everyone expects you to be, and how you aren’t that person-” Oh, yes, he does remember that, “-I feel like that too sometimes. There’s a version of me that people expect me to be.”

Newt hadn’t thought he could be thrown any more off balance. He doesn’t see how it relates, for one thing, but for another- What does Hermann mean by that? He can’t mean the same thing Newt means, right? Because, by almost anyone’s measure, Hermann _does_ meet expectations. Above and beyond. Okay, so, maybe on the social front he struggles. But it’s not his fault he gets bullied. And other than that, he’s smart, he obviously gets excellent grades, he’s well-mannered, he’s definitely a rule follower, and what else can you possibly expect of a teenager? 

Hermann says, “I want to be that person too,” and his voice cracks. 

_What the fuck is happening?_ Newt thinks wildly.

“I try very hard to be that person, to live up to that, but I can’t always. And- When that happens, when there’s something that I don’t like about myself but can’t change, I think I usually just do my best to hide it from everyone, even from myself. Like the bullying. I was angry when you asked me about that because I’m- I’m ashamed. That that happens to me. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, let alone you or anyone else. And I think, I think I’m fairly good at hiding some of the things I don’t want to see from myself. You were one of those things.”

Newt had almost forgotten this was about him, or at least partially. This all is- Another side of Hermann that he didn’t know was there. Ashamed? Newt had thought maybe, but still, hearing it is something else. And, what does he mean, Newt is one of the things he’s been “hiding”?

“Me?”

“I noticed you at that party. I- I very much noticed you. And then, when we played that silly game, and you k-kissed me, I was so upset because- Because I wasn’t. Because I was, I enjoyed it. And all the other times we kissed too. But I couldn’t admit that to myself because the person I’m supposed to be wouldn’t, and I’d been trying so hard for so long to not notice that part of myself- Not because I think that’s wrong, you understand, but because- Of other people’s expectations, you know- My father would- My father will be very disappointed. So I was trying to change that part of myself, or ignore it, only then there was you, and maybe if it was only that I was attracted to you, maybe if it was just kissing I could have gone on pretending it wasn’t anything really, except then-”

This is important, what’s happening now is important, so important that Newt can’t even really think about it, can only lean closer and listen and ask intently when Hermann seems to be run out of words, “Then what?”

“I liked kissing you,” Hermann whispers, like it’s a secret, something he isn’t supposed to admit. “But I also liked talking to you, and arguing with you, I liked spending time with you, I like- You. I like you a lot.”


	14. Evaluation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please google some pictures of chameleons before you read this chapter. I think chameleons must have trust issues, they look so suspicious of others. Did someone betray them when they were very young? That's so sad. I hope they can learn to trust again.

Hermann’s never done anything like this before. Not just confessing to have romantic feelings to someone; of course he’s never done that, he’s never really liked anyone before, not the way he likes Newt. But any of this. He hasn’t done any of this. Honestly and truthfully revealing the inner parts of himself, the thoughts and feelings that make up who he is, to someone else. It’s strange, he’s always thought of himself as being a truthful person. Math and science function in truth, fact, hard evidence, so shouldn’t he? And he was raised to be principled, to have morals, and that included not lying. So he had thought he was a truthful person. Isn’t that what gets him in trouble sometimes? Refusing to pretend he liked the boring things other children liked, not engaging in the polite, pointless white lies that everyone else did, not pretending to be stupider than he is, letting it show when he disliked someone. He was surely too truthful.

Yet he’s realizing now that he’s such a liar. He wasn’t always, surely, but now somehow he’s reached this point where he has told so many lies that some of them came to feel true even to himself. The point where he didn’t know, doesn’t know, who he really is, where telling the truth like this feels unnatural, and utterly terrifying. He’s never done this before, he has perhaps never truly been honest his entire life, not like this, so he has no idea what happens now, what this means, what this will do, how Newt will respond; he has no idea what comes next, and maybe that’s another reason he lies so often, because it’s easier to predict what response will come to a lie, and he hates not knowing what to expect. 

Newt looks away at last, shakes his head, and mutters, “That’s so unfair.” 

That’s not what he was expecting.

He- He- He’s never going to tell the truth again. Never again, he’ll _never_ tell the truth again; he thinks this rather than think about what Newt just said. He can’t think about that yet, or else he’ll cry, and he can’t bear it. He can’t cry in front of Newt, and he can’t let Dietrich or, god, his father, see that he’s been crying, it’s unbearable, it’s so- he would have never expected Newt to be cruel. He realizes that now. He thought Newt might, would probably, reject him, but he hadn’t thought Newt would be cruel. He’ll never tell the truth again, he’ll never say anything again, never, he’ll never open his mouth again, he won’t make a sound, he won’t cry. 

“Get out,” he means to say - that will be the last thing he ever says - but before he can Newt rakes a hand through his hair and says, shaky, “Seriously, you totally stole my thunder.” 

That’s completely unexpected too, and Hermann accidentally says, “What?” instead. 

“I was gonna- I was gonna make a totally cool and dramatic speech, and then you totally beat me to the punch and you were probably a lot cooler about it than I could be, man, that’s so unfair.” 

“Beat you to saying _what_?”

Newt looks up and suddenly grins, so widely it looks like it might almost hurt his face, and comes closer to Hermann. He even sits on the edge of the bed. Hermann wishes he wouldn’t, won’t it be easier and quicker for him to leave when he rejects Hermann if he stays by the door? And then Newt says, “Well, you know, I, I was gonna say the same thing. That I like you. Because- Yeah. I like you, Hermann.” 

Laird hit Hermann hard enough that his ears were ringing a little bit, maybe that’s still happening. Maybe he’s imagining the ringing has formed into words. Maybe his hearing is damaged and he’s hearing everything all wrong - that would explain that strange car ride with Dietrich - maybe he should have had Dietrich take him to hospital after all, even though he really hates hospitals.

“What?” continues to seem like an appropriate response. 

Newt, who is rather pink, ducks his head, although he’s still grinning - Hermann’s hearing couldn’t affect _that_ , but perhaps his contacts fell out, Newt is fairly close right now - and says, “Aw, c’mon, y-you’re gonna make me repeat it?”

“Yes,” Hermann says, and tries squinting a little bit to see if that makes Newt come more in focus and look different. 

It doesn’t. Newt sighs and sort of laughs and takes one of Hermann’s hands. His skin is warm and soft. “I _like_ you, Hermann. That’s why I want to end the experiment, because I like you too much, I don’t want it to be experimental, I want it to be real. I like you.” 

Hermann doesn’t say anything. 

Newt stares at him. His smile is starting to twitch a little and to fade. He’s still holding Hermann’s hand. His hand is a little sweaty, but then, so is Hermann’s. You don’t expect to be sweaty at a moment like this, Hermann thinks irrelevantly. It’s hardly romantic. 

Romantic. Oh. This is romantic. Newt likes him too. 

“You asshole,” he chokes, and yanks his hand from Newt’s so that he can smack him on the arm. 

Newt flinches back and it’s his turn to say, “What?”

“‘That’s so unfair,’ you asshole, you scared the hell out of me! Who says- Who says something like that in response to- to what I said? What’s wrong with you! You asshole!” 

Newt looks astonished, then laughs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, as Hermann glares at him, “Don’t hit me,” even though he only did so once, and not hard at all, of course not. “Oh my god,” Newt says, and he’s still laughing, he looks giddy, “I’m so happy- Can I kiss you?”

“Obviously,” Hermann says emphatically, although when Newt leans in, smiling harder than ever, and looking so wonderful with it, practically glowing with happiness, and is he? Is he really Hermann’s now? And Hermann’s heart squeezes and beats harder and he thinks he’s happy too, although he’s not quite sure, he’s not quite sure this is real yet- But when Newt leans in, Hermann is, strangely, less sure. It’s different. This is a real kiss. Not experimental. He’s not lying to himself or to Newt. He told the truth. And Newt told the truth back and he said, he feels the same. And so this kiss is the first kiss, the first kiss like this, and he’s happy but he’s almost frightened too. Everything is changing, and he’s never liked to change, but then, he hasn’t been used to things changing for good. 

Maybe Newt feels similarly, because he pauses for a moment, and simply looks into Hermann’s eyes, and Hermann isn’t good with words but even if he was he’s sure there would be no way to describe this, the way he feels, and then one of them, or both of them, leans in and closes the distance.

It kind of hurts. Actually, physically hurts, and he abruptly remembers that he has a split lip and a tender nose - he was actually surprised when the school nurse told him it wasn’t broken - and bruises all over his face. It should probably be more surprising that the kiss still partially _does_ feel good, really good, it’s just that when Newt does that thing he does where he sucks on Hermann’s lower lip, it really hurts. 

Newt leans back almost immediately and grimaces. “Probably, um, not such a good time for kissing, right? Sorry.”

Hermann really hates Laird, all of a sudden. Of course he always hates him, but just at this moment he hates him a good deal more than usual. “ _I’m_ sorry,” he starts to say, frustrated, but Newt rolls his eyes and holds up a hand. 

“Oh my god, just stop,” he says, but playfully, so that it doesn’t feel like being scolded. “Does it hurt a lot? Here,” and he picks up the ice pack, which Hermann had honestly forgotten about, and presses it to Hermann’s face. 

A little tingle goes through Hermann, and it’s not because the ice pack is too cold or because it feels good (although those are also true, and he stiffens and then sighs and relaxes as the cold eases some of the pain). It’s because Newt does it so tenderly, like he’s afraid of hurting Hermann, and has such a gentle expression on his face like Hermann has never really seen before, and it comes him all over again, that Newt likes him back. He likes Newt and Newt likes him back. 

He’s so filled with wonder that he almost misses what Newt says next, and then the wonder fades away and is replaced with a twisting of his insides, even though Newt is still speaking very gently. “What...happened, Hermann? How did this happen?”

You’d think that- Or at least, he’d thought that- this exchange of feelings, that moment of mutual honesty, would have changed things, and now telling the truth would be easy, and he’d be able to tell Newt what happened. But he still doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to tell Newt about it. He’s still ashamed. And he doesn’t want to think about that right now, when he’s happy. He reaches up a hand to take the ice pack from Newt, but Newt refuses to move his hand. He’s sitting closer to Hermann now, right next to him. 

“Ah- Um. It was- There’s-” Where does he even start? When did it even start? Does he admit that it’s partially related to Newt? Will Newt feel guilty about that? Or will Newt blame him for trying to keep things secret at all at school? _Was_ he wrong to have done that? Would it have made things worse, or better, or would it have not even mattered at all? They all would hate him anyways, there’s never been anything he could do about that...Or is there? Isn’t there something he should do? Newt will think he’s a coward. Newt will think he’s weak. And maybe- Maybe Newt _should_ know those things, if they are going to carry out any sort of relationship - are they going to carry out any sort of relationship? - then Newt should know what sort of person he really is, right? He can’t go on hiding all these things. From Newt or from himself.

It feels like being suffocated, sometimes, thinking about these things. Like being crushed. All the things he wants to hide, wants to hide from, all the parts of himself, of the world, of life, that he hates, they all crush him, bury him, there’s not enough space for all the awful, ugly things, and he can feel himself growing smaller and smaller. How can he share those things with Newt? Newt will see that- that he’s not good enough. But how can he hide it? He’s so tired, he’s so- so _goddamn_ tired of hiding everything. And Newt deserves to know what he’s getting into. 

“There’s this boy at school, and he despises me, I suppose-” He sounds very far away, even to himself, like he’s talking about something unrelated to himself, summarizing the plot of a book he once read years ago. “And I-”

Newt has a strange look on his face, and he takes Hermann’s hand again, with the hand that isn’t holding the icepack, and interrupts, which isn’t very fair of him, since it was so hard to get started once, and now he’ll have to start all over again, only he says, “Hermann, I- I mean, nevermind, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

He takes a breath, and then another one, and he doesn’t meet Newt’s eyes, and he says, and now his voice is quiet and thick and awful, “I do want to. I’m tired of lying about everything. And it’s connected to, um, to us, I think.” All the secrets and lies, all the reasons for keeping secrets and for lying, those are all connected. 

“Okay,” Newt says, “Okay. I really appreciate that. But, um, maybe not right now? I mean, you can right now if you want to or if you need to, of course, I’ll definitely listen, but, um, don’t force yourself. You’ve had, like, the shittiest day ever, it was a little unfair of me to ask when you’ve had the shittiest day ever.”

He nods a few times, then mumbles, “Not the _worst_ day ever.”

“What?”

“Well- Some good things have happened, I think. Some- rather good things.” He’s so embarrassed he could almost die. Is this flirting? Is he flirting? He’s never flirted before. But at least the ugly feelings of a moment before have subsided again.

“Oh my god,” Newt says, and Hermann thinks maybe he _will_ die of embarrassment. Was it that bad? But instead of making fun of him, Newt says, “You’re so- You’re so fucking cute- Do you have any idea-”

“What?” Hermann says, and of all things, his voice cracks and sort of squeaks. 

“It’s been killing me, Hermann Gottlieb, do you have any idea? You’re so fucking cute, it has been fucking me up, dude, I kept trying to pretend I didn’t notice but you are _so_ cute, I seriously can’t handle it.” 

No, nevermind, Newt clearly _is_ making fun of him. “Shut up!” 

“I can’t!” Newt declares passionately, and even drops the ice pack so he can gesture dramatically, which is alright, because the amount Hermann is blushing, the ice pack wasn’t really helping anymore. “I’ve been holding it in for weeks, Hermann, weeks! I can’t do it anymore, you’re fricking adorable, I have to tell you or else I’ll explode!” 

“I am not!” Hermann says, and is very careful to not let his voice go high, to keep it firm and commanding instead.

“Ahh, see, that’s the exact sorta thing I mean, you do that weird growly thing with your voice and it’s ridiculous and adorable, you’re killing me, man!”

“I do not!” Hermann protests. 

“You do so!” 

“I am not _cute_!”

“You are so!” 

“ _You’re-_ ” and then he stops and blushes furiously. 

“God!” Newt shouts - it’s a good thing no one is home - and actually stands up, or more like jumps up, perhaps so he can wave his arms around more dramatically. The ice pack falls to the ground with a plop. “You were gonna say, ‘You’re cute,’ weren’t you-”

“No!”

“You were gonna say it, that’s so cute! God!” He tilts his head back, as if addressing some heavenly force, and says victoriously, “Hermann Gottlieb thinks I’m cute! Oh my god, do you have glow in the dark stars on your ceiling? That’s precious! Fuck!” 

“You’re embarrassing, that’s what I was going to say!” Hermann says loudly. “And the worst! Go away!” 

“You’re so- Tsundere, dude, you’re so tsundere, it’s cute!”

“ _Tsundere_ \- I take it back, I don’t like you, not at all, you’re the worst, get out of my house!” 

“Your pronunciation is atrocious, Herms, there’s a ‘t’ in tsundere, a ‘t.’” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t spend all of my time watching anime like _some_ embarrassing nerds that I know, _please_ forgive me, however will I recover from the shame-”

“Aw, man, you have such a cute smile, do you know that!”

“Shut up! I do not! And I’m not smiling!”

“You totally are, it’s kinda killing me that I can’t kiss you.”

“Well, you could at least _try_ ,” Hermann retorts, and for once Newt does as instructed. It must be a first, Hermann is sure. 

It goes better this time. It’s not perhaps so energetic a kiss as either of them would like, but Newt kisses very tenderly and they both do their best to avoid the cut on Hermann’s lip and not bump noses, and Hermann never thought he could be so happy on a day in which so many bad things happened and potentially will still happen. 

A door slams shut and they spring violently apart, staring at each other with wide eyes. Newt chokes back a surprised giggle. 

“Hello?” Dietrich calls. “We’re home!” 

Hermann thinks calling back, “Hello!” in a perfectly ordinary voice is one of the more impressive things he’s done in his life. Newt giggles more and slaps a hand over his mouth. Hermann glares at him. 

There’s a knock a moment later, as he expected but nonetheless hoped there wouldn’t be. He glares even more furiously at Newt and jerks his head at his desk chair. Newt clearly doesn’t understand and simply looks around wildly, but fortunately spots the chair of his own accord and comes to the same decision as Hermann, that sitting there is much less suspicious than standing in the middle of the room, or, god forbid, sitting on the bed. Newt’s hair is sticking up a little bit, but that’s ordinary for him, right?

“You can come in,” Hermann says, and making himself sound slightly sleepy and annoyed is surely a genius stroke. 

It’s Bas first, as he half expected, Dietrich behind him, staying in the doorway, and Hermann feels absurdly guilty when he sees the concerned and alarmed look on his little brother’s face. “Are you _okay_?” he says passionately. 

(Newt puts a hand over his heart and mouths, _aww_.) 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says. “It looks worse than it is.” 

“What happened?” Bas demands. 

He feels far less bad about lying to Bas than he would lying to just about anyone else, at least about this. Bas is too innocent, too good, he believes in the inherent goodness of people and all of that sort of silliness, and Hermann has no desire to be the person to shatter that illusion for him. Besides, how shameful is it to have to admit that sort of thing to one’s younger brother? “Just- a bit of an accident at school, nothing to worry about.” 

Newt makes a face and shakes his head. “What could cause that?” Bas says loudly. 

Dietrich puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hermann’s probably pretty tired,” he says. “He’s had a rough day. Maybe we can save the questions for later.” Bas sort of deflates. Dietrich looks over Bastien’s head and addresses Hermann. “Dad called. He says he’s on his way, should be home in a few hours.”

“O-oh. Okay.” 

Dietrich gives him a look he can’t decipher. Bas, meanwhile, has apparently only just noticed Newt sitting off to the side, and he says, “Oh! It’s the friend that isn’t Tendo!” 

Newt grins and says, “Hello again.”

“I have more than one friend!” Hermann insists. 

Bas ignores him. _Brat_. “What are you doing here?”

“Just- Um- Checking up on Hermann,” Newt says, and, oh god, is he a bad liar? It isn’t even really a lie, so why does it sound so very much like he’s lying? Dietrich is looking at Newt now with that thoughtful expression, and he seemed particularly interested by the fact that if Bas recognizes Newt, then Newt must have been here before, and it makes Hermann nervous. 

Bas buys it, though. “Do you go to Hermann’s school?”

“Oh, no, actually, I’m in college,” Newt says. Of course he takes this opportunity to brag. Hermann rolls his eyes. 

“Wow,” Bastien remarks. 

“College? You look a bit young for that, or am I wrong?” Dietrich says, eyebrows drawing incrementally together. 

“Sixteen,” Newt says, barely holding back a smirk. “I skipped a few grades.”

Hermann rolls his eyes again. 

“I see,” Dietrich says, relaxing again. “Where do you go-”

Hermann takes himself by surprise by suddenly yawning rather widely. Everyone looks at him, and he covers his mouth and says, embarrassed, “I’m sorry.” But all of the sudden, he’s horribly exhausted. It’s the first time things have really slowed down all day, the first time he’s been any sort of relaxed, and now he finds he can hardly even keep his eyes open.

“You must be tired,” Dietrich says again. “You should probably get some rest.” He leaves _before Dad gets home_ unspoken. 

Newt says, “Oh!” and jumps to his feet. “I didn’t even think-”

“You don’t, usually-” Hermann says snidely.

“Shut up. Go to sleep. I’ll leave.”

“You don’t-” he protests, and ruins it by yawning again. He is tired but- He doesn’t necessarily want Newt to leave yet. 

Newt smiles at him, a different sort of smile from anything Hermann has seen yet, a smile that feels very private, just for him. “We’ll talk later,” he says significantly. 

Hermann smiles shyly back. That’s right. They have time now. No more experiments, they can just do this whenever they like, however they like, wherever they like. How wonderful. How luxurious. Now, it could even be okay for him to simply call Newt and say, I want to see you. “Okay,” he agrees. 

“Bas,” Dietrich says slowly, “Why don’t you show Newton out?” And Hermann realizes he is making a face like this, whatever sort of expression he’s making right now, with Dietrich right there. 

Bas obliges, of course, and Newt lingers a moment to say warmly, “Bye, Herms,” and then they are gone. After a moment, he hears Bas call, “Bye!” and the front door shut.

Dietrich does not go away. He leans thoughtfully in the doorway. “He seems like a nice boy.”

Has he guessed? 

“I guess,” Hermann says. “I haven’t known him very long.” 

“Hermann, you know-”

“I’m tired, Dietrich, I want to go to sleep,” Hermann interrupts. 

He’s sure Dietrich isn’t going to give up at first. He remains standing there, tapping his fingers on his thigh, and Hermann is sure he’s going to ask more questions, to finish that thought, you know- You know what?

Dietrich sighs and says, “Yes, of course. I’ll leave you alone now...I’ll wake you up when Dad gets home, alright?”

His throat goes thick every time Dietrich mentions his father coming home. He nods.

“It’ll be okay, Herms,” Dietrich says quietly, and leaves at last, turning off the lights and shutting the door behind him. 

And then Hermann is finally alone. The noon sun filters dim blue through the curtains drawn over the window. It’s the first time he’s been alone all day. There’s that curious sort of quiet that only comes when one tries to sleep during the day, when all the normal sounds of the day go on, cars going by distantly and an elderly neighbor a few houses down mowing her lawn, but all these ordinary sounds are completely disconnected from you, as if you exist in an isolated space one step away from the rest of the world. Hermann thinks he’s going to cry. 

He slides down until he’s in a lying position and presses a hand to his mouth. His jaw aches from holding back tears. He should be happy, he thinks savagely. No, he is happy, strangely enough. He’s happy, Newt likes him too, Newt, ridiculously, thinks he’s cute; but also- he was so scared. So much happened today. It hurt. It still hurts. He was so afraid. He’s still so afraid. And his father is going to come home soon and look at him coldly and say, _What on earth happened here?_ and he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, and it will be his fault, somehow, his father will make it his fault and he’ll be right. Wasn’t it his fault? He provoked Laird. Laird probably wasn’t intending to beat him up, or at least not that badly, not in the middle of school right before classes started. But Hermann made him angry- he had such an angry look on his face. So disgusted. Hermann disgusted him. Hermann is disgusting. And he wanted to hurt Hermann that badly. It was- It was so frightening- and he doesn’t understand, really, how anyone can want to hurt someone else that badly, how anyone could want to hurt him that badly, and it’s not like it’s over, there’s still a whole year of school left, and people at school still hate him that badly, still want to hurt him that badly, with words - _don’t think the word_ \- only he can’t help but think it - and blows, just for living, breathing, for being him, for being “Hermann Gottlieb,” and what’s wrong with him? That people always hate him this much? Isn’t it his fault, after all? Isn’t there something else he should be doing? Or is there no way to change, is it something intrinsic in him that makes people hate him that much? _I’m disappointed in you, Hermann_ , that’s what his father will say, and why- why is he like this- why is it always his fault- why does he have to live through a year more of this- why does he have to be scared- such a coward- 

The next time he manages to suck a breath of air in, it shudders in his throat and makes a pathetic sound, like a whimper, and his ribs stab with pain, and he doesn’t want it to happen but tears are forming in his eyes. He was so scared. He’s starting to feel sick again. 

His phone chirps softly and vibrates against his hip, startling a gasp from him. He didn’t even remember it was still in his pocket, although now he realizes it’s digging into his thigh. He has to twist around a bit to dig it out, and that hurts too, maybe he should have told Dietrich to take him to hospital, only he just _couldn’t_ -

It’s a text from Newt. A picture of a chameleon and the message: _ALIENS, SCULLAY!!!_

A shaky little huff of air escapes him. Is this how _Newt_ flirts? Maybe he’s just as bad at it as Hermann. He texts back - it’s hard to type, his fingers are trembling and the keyboard is blurry without his contacts and with wet eyes - _That’s a chameleon, Newton. Not an alien._

ur no fun.  
I think he looks a little bit like u.

Who? The chameleon?

Yeah, Herms, look at his cute lil grumpy face, it reminds me of u. isnt he cute?

He wipes his eyes and sniffs. What a- A nerd. _I do not look like a chameleon._

Newt promptly sends him another chameleon picture. _what about this one_

_No._

Another picture. _Look at his suspicious face, i s2g thats the exact face you make when u think im up to something._

_How come you can spell suspicious correctly but cannot use proper punctuation and capitalization?_

_Oh, I say, my good man, do forgive me for not properly using all of my semi colons and oxford commas while communicating textually through my mobilur device, wot wot._

Hermann smothers a startled laugh, and shifts position so he’s lying on his side with his cell phone in front of his face. _Mobilur is not a word_ , he types, and then lets his eyes drift shut while he waits for the next text.

_thats what you take from that?_

_Yes._

_Wow. Wow. that is so typical of u._  
_Herms look at how colorful this chameleon is_  
_its so cute it def looks like u_  
_hermaleon_  
_hermann_  
_hermann r u asleep_  
_so rude_  
_talk to u later herms, u can call me tonight if u wanna/have time, i prob wont go to bed till late._  
_You’re cute. <3 _

 

 

The sound of the front door closing wakes him up. It’s important that the door is closing, he’s sure, but he can’t remember what that means. It’s dark, very dark, and he doesn’t really understand why anyone would be opening and closing the front door this late at night. It feels like he’s slept for hours, much more heavier than usual, in fact it feels a little bit like he’s been ill, with how slow and heavy his body and mind feels, except he also kind of hurts, all over. For a second, with a flash of fear, he wonders if he’s back in the hospital. But- No. This is definitely his room in America, his bed. That’s a relief. He can hear voices out in the hall, speaking in German. What time is it? he wonders, and gropes around for his phone. It’s surprisingly close to his face. 

The first thing he sees, when he turns it on, are several texts from Newt, including a picture of a colorful chameleon and the message, “ _You’re cute_.” With a little icon of a heart. He lies back and marvels for several minutes that that really happened. 

But of course, necessarily, in the wake of that he has to acknowledge that he remembers the other things that happened that day. It’s not that he forgot, exactly. Just that he hadn’t wanted to think of it, and had been disoriented enough upon waking that it felt almost like something that had happened a while ago, or to someone else. But his phone says it’s only 8:10 pm; it probably only seems so dark because his curtains are drawn and the natural light of the day must be fading. It’s surely still the same day. In which case, the door closing must mean his father is home. 

He wonders if he could just go back to sleep, or even pretend to be deeply enough asleep as to be not woken up by Dietrich knocking as he surely will in a few moments, and maybe then they’ll leave him alone, at least until tomorrow. He’s not at all hungry, he still hurts too much for that, so he certainly wouldn’t mind skipping dinner. 

But- His father drove all this way, and even left work early; he wasn’t originally supposed to be home until around midnight tonight. He came to be here _now_ , not tomorrow, not when Hermann feels like it. And he knows, really, that that is his father’s way of showing concern. That if he didn’t think it was important, if he wasn’t worried at least a little bit, he would have put it off. 

Still, he waits until Dietrich knocks on his door a few minutes later and calls, “Hermann? Are you awake? Dad’s here,” before he leaves his room. 

He’s gone stiff, he finds when he stands, and his head spins for a second. His right leg doesn’t want to bend at all, hip or knee, and he has to lean on the wall just to make it over to where his cane is leaning on his desk. His ribs throb at him with every step. Still, he thinks it’s not as bad as it could be. He’s felt worse. 

Like when he limps his way out into the living room, Dietrich trailing behind him, and his father simply stares at him. That’s worse. He’s sitting on that one particular armchair, that one that is, by silent agreement, his. Even when he isn’t home, no one else sits in it. It’s a comfortable chair, but he doesn’t sit in it like it is; he sits with his back drawn perfectly straight, his shoulders set in a line, his hands folded in his lap. He’s always scolding Hermann for bad posture, but Hermann can’t help but hunch his shoulders around him sometimes, like now, when his father looks at him with his pale blue eyes expressionless like that. He knows he’s going to be yelled at. Not actual yelling, of course, Lars Gottlieb rarely yells. Karla is the only one able to make him raise his voice with any sort of consistency. He almost never yells at Hermann. But Hermann doesn’t think it makes much of a difference, when it still feels like being yelled at.

It’s not that his father is ever unkind or intentionally hurtful. He’s not manipulative, he rarely lies, he tries to be fair, Hermann is sure that by his standards he is fair, and he doesn’t neglect them, he may travel a lot but he makes sure they always have food and money and health care and everything else they might need, and he’s certainly never, _never_ hit Hermann or any of his siblings as Newt thought that time. Hermann knows, he does, that his father loves and cares about all of them. Even now, the first thing he says, as Hermann sits down on the couch, is, “Are you all right?”

It’s just he says it as he would say anything else, quiet, measured, neutral. The same way he would ask, _How’s the weather today?_ or any other banal question like that. His face, too, betrays no concern. It’s impossible to tell how he’s feeling, if he’s feeling anything at all, and Hermann may have been insisting all day that he’s fine and that he doesn’t want anyone to make a fuss over this, and yet now, he’s hurt. Someone did this to him and his father looks as if he doesn’t care, even _Dietrich_ was surprised and angry. 

It’s just that his father is always so cold, so distant, so superior, so reasonable and logical. He never lets his emotions control him, or even show. He’s always right. He’s always certain of himself. He has very set ideas of how the world should be, of how others should act, of how Hermann should act. He does not accept failure. His father isn’t cruel, or at least not intentionally so, but he’s also rarely kind. 

Hermann always feels so small around him, and entirely aware of each way he doesn’t live up to his father’s expectations. Sometimes it makes him so angry. But the anger is always futile, meaningless in the face of his father’s frozen, knowing calm. 

The worst part, probably, the hardest part, is that Hermann thinks his father wasn’t always like this. He remembers him being, not completely different, of course, but softer, kinder, warmer. Not so extremely distant. Didn’t he used to smile? Back in Germany. Before other things happened. Sometimes he thinks it wouldn’t be so hard to bear him being so cold now if he didn’t remember him being warmer once. More of a father. Hermann is sure he remembers coming home from school when he was, oh, he must have been only six or seven, splattered with mud because the bigger boys shoved him down, and his father holding him as he cried. But that was a long time ago.

Hermann straightens his posture. “Yes.” 

“Did Dietrich take you to a doctor?” 

Hermann can feel Dietrich, who sat on the couch beside him, shift incrementally. Dietrich doesn’t like being disappointing either, although he’s much better at controlling his feelings and behaving rationally (or at least, so Hermann had thought) than Hermann is. “No,” Hermann says, and he can already hear himself sounding defensive, it happens so easily with his father because he’s always expecting him to be disappointed, and it always makes things worse because then his father thinks he’s being emotional and irrational and that perhaps he has something to be defensive _about _, so that makes him get disappointed faster. “I don’t think I need a doctor,” he continues firmly, although he’s still not a hundred percent certain of that. “It’s only a few bruises.”__

__His father frowns ever so slightly, but says nothing more. Hermann thinks resignedly that he won’t be surprised if tomorrow he wakes up to find he has a doctor’s appointment scheduled. “What on earth happened?” Lars continues, and this is the hard part. “The school said you got into a fight. I don’t think I need to tell you how unacceptable that is, Hermann.”_ _

__A fight. He appreciates that. That makes it sound like he fought back instead of collapsing to the ground and curling up into a ball. But Dietrich has to go and ruin it by saying, “I would hardly call that a fight, the other boy didn’t have a mark on him.”_ _

__They both look at him expectantly then, and he swallows and waits for the lies, misdirections, to come, like always. Except, instead he thinks, he’s so tired of lying. He meant that before, when he said it to Newt. He hadn’t known how much he meant it at the time._ _

__He tightens his hand on his cane and says, “No, I suppose it wasn’t a fight. He-” Logical. Reasonable. Direct. That’s what his father wants, or thinks he wants. “ _He beat _me_ up.” __ _

___His father’s frown hardens. “Bullying? Again?”_ _ _

___“Yes.”_ _ _

___“How long has this been going on?” his father demands._ _ _

___Hermann feels a bizarre desire to laugh. It’s almost like his father is being naive. Surely he knows, really. Surely he hasn’t believed all of Hermann’s implausible lies, over the years. He had never really thought he believed. “It- It’s never really stopped. It’s not usually like _this_ , though.” _ _ _

___Something indefinite shifts in the room. A change in barometric pressure, Hermann thinks. A cold front approaching. “You told me it stopped.”_ _ _

___He’s not sure how much longer he can be brave like this. He has the same feeling as earlier today, like his insides, his feelings or his mind, are shaking. But he says, “No, I didn’t.”_ _ _

___“I am quite sure-”_ _ _

___“I just stopped telling you about it,” he says, and is silently astonished and horrified that he just interrupted his father._ _ _

___His father doesn’t move, exactly, but for a moment Hermann thinks he’s going to, that he’s going to stand. “You lied to me.”_ _ _

___“Yes,” Hermann says, voice nearly failing him. Lying is bad. By any parent’s standard, he’s sure. Oh, he’s genuinely done something wrong here, lying is not approved of, his father will be angry._ _ _

___“ _Why _?” he says forcefully.___ _ _

_____Hermann is now actually, physically shaking. The scene before him has taken on a hyper real edge, every detail sharply visible, ever edge clearly defined, the way that things do when in a situation he doesn’t want to be in. It’s not even precisely that he’s afraid, just that he doesn’t want this to be happening at all. “You didn’t-” No, no, that’s not right, it’s not fair to blame it on him, even though he thinks it’s true, his father didn’t want to hear it. But that’s not why he stopped talking about it. One should take responsibility for one’s own actions. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”_ _ _ _ _

_____He’s not supposed to look away. One should meet people’s eyes when one talks to them, you have to be confident and authoritative or no one will take you seriously, only, only he has to look away, he has to look away because otherwise he’s going to cry. Why is telling the truth so painful?_ _ _ _ _

_____Lars doesn’t say anything at all. Dietrich shifts again and Hermann expects him to say something, he said he’d _help_ , but he doesn’t say a word either. He bites the inside of his cheek to stop his eyes from watering, or at least to make them water for a different reason. _ _ _ _ _

_____And then somehow he’s talking instead, because no one else will say anything and he’s so tired of lying. “It’s not really that much of a problem, at least most of the time, I’ve always been able to deal with it alone until now, I didn’t need to ask for help. And you- You said I should just stand up to them, but when I do, it only makes it worse- that’s what happened today- so it just seemed better to, to deal with it my own way, then to, to bother you-”_ _ _ _ _

_____“You lied to me, Hermann.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“I- I _know_ , but-” He feels as if he’s losing control of this situation, of himself, of what he says, and the harder he reaches for that control, the farther away it slips, like something in a nightmare. “I- You’re always so disappointed and I was supposed to make things work here, and I- I just didn’t want to disappoint you anymore and I, I _didn’t know what else to do_ \- I’m _sorry_ -” He chokes and barely restrains a sob. He can never make the words come out right._ _ _ _ _

_____Dietrich puts a hand on shoulder, and he’s so astonished he nearly flinches away. When was the last time Dietrich touched him? They don’t do that, in his family. They don’t touch, not affectionately._ _ _ _ _

_____“It’s not Hermann’s fault,” Dietrich says quietly. “And I think he’s been trying his best in a difficult situation, and I also wish he had said something, but- For god’s sake,” he breaks out suddenly, and Hermann has never heard him so emphatic, “You should have heard them at the school, they practically wanted to blame it on him that this boy twice his size tried to _kill_ him-”_ _ _ _ _

_____“He did not,” Hermann protests. He’s sure that Laird wasn’t trying to kill him. Just hurt him._ _ _ _ _

_____Dietrich entirely disregards him. “It was absurd, it was outrageous, and if that’s how he’s been treated in the past, then I can understand why he would prefer not to say anything!”_ _ _ _ _

_____This is so acutely, unexpectedly accurate that Hermann again nearly begins to cry. Of all the people, who would have expected Dietrich to understand and stand up for him? Even though he doesn’t think it quite went the way Dietrich said. Really, the administrators were much fairer than he’s encountered in the past, and Mr. Hansen was even on his side._ _ _ _ _

_____Dietrich takes a deep breath and continues, “And _you_ haven’t always been fair in the past either.” Hermann looks at him in shock. _ _ _ _ _

_____“I beg your pardon?” Lars says in his most frigid voice._ _ _ _ _

_____“You try to blame it on him too, and it’s not fair. He doesn’t start these ‘fights.’”_ _ _ _ _

_____“He could stand up for himself-”_ _ _ _ _

_____“He did!” Dietrich says loudly. “And look what happened! What are you expecting him to do against a larger boy, or against several people?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Lars doesn’t say anything, perhaps as surprised as Hermann that Dietrich actually raised his voice._ _ _ _ _

_____Dietrich must be surprised at himself too, because he’s back to his usual, even tone when next he speaks, and his grip on Hermann’s shoulder has tightened, as if he doesn’t know he’s doing it. “I am not- I don’t mean to say it’s your fault. It’s just also not Hermann’s fault, and I think that- That treating him as if he’s in trouble for being mistreated by his peers is simply unfair.”_ _ _ _ _

_____The silence, this time, feels very long. At last, Lars says, very controlled and precise, “I see.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“I-”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Might I speak alone to Hermann for a moment?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Dietrich freezes. “I-” He sounds lost for the first time. “Of course,” he says, and hesitantly stands up and leaves. Hermann both does and does not blame him._ _ _ _ _

_____No one does silence like his father. It’s like a physical thing, with him. When he was a little bit younger, after his father changed, Hermann would imagine it as an ice wall. But after a while, he started to always see the ice wall there, between his father, growing thicker and thicker every time he disappointed him, so he stopped thinking about it._ _ _ _ _

_____“I’m not pleased that you’ve been lying to me, Hermann. I thought I had taught you better than that. Particularly because this situation shouldn’t have escalated this far.” Hermann nods, a dull, cold ache in his chest. “But,” his father continues unexpectedly, “I am not- You are not a disappointment.”_ _ _ _ _

_____He’s really quite surprised with himself for not simply immediately bursting into tears._ _ _ _ _

_____“I have high expectations of you, at times, and I don’t always feel...as if you reach your full potential. But that’s simply because I believe that you are capable of a great deal. I...certainly never meant to make you feel as if you couldn’t tell me the truth about things like this.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Hermann means to say something, but he can’t move. He’s terribly aware of everything, of his whole body, of each beat of his heart, of each stir of the air, of his father’s presence across the room, and everything is so delicately balanced and fragile that he can’t move at all, not even to speak._ _ _ _ _

_____“I don’t…” Lars hesitates. He never hesitates._ _ _ _ _

_____The balance tilts slightly, and Hermann is surreally certain that something, something internal, one of the fragile things, falls and breaks, and something is lost, and that what his father goes on to say is not what he meant to say._ _ _ _ _

_____“I want you to tell me if you are having problems,” he says._ _ _ _ _

_____“Okay,” Hermann whispers, and ordinarily his father would tell him to speak up, but not now._ _ _ _ _

_____Lars sighs and moves slightly in his chair. “Can I ask why this particular incident happened? You said it’s not normally...like this.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Hermann parts his lips and can’t say a word. He’s so tired of lying. And he, he just said, I want you to tell me about things like this. And all of this has gone differently from how he expected. But-_ _ _ _ _

_____He only met his father’s parents once or twice, back when they lived in Germany, when he was very young. He hardly remembers. But he doesn’t think they were very kind people. He knows they were very conservative, very old fashioned. He knows they didn’t really approve of...this sort of thing._ _ _ _ _

_____His father didn’t get along with them well. That’s why Hermann rarely met them, he spent far more time with his mother’s grandparents. And his father isn’t old fashioned, or conservative. He believes in global warming and (limited) public health care and Hermann has heard him dismiss racism and sexism as “silly.” But._ _ _ _ _

_____But he is still his parent’s child, isn’t he, just as Hermann is his. And he has very set ideas, Hermann knows that. Set ideas about how a person should be, how a person should live. And people that don’t adhere to that, ideas that don’t match his, he does not approve of. Particularly in his own children._ _ _ _ _

_____Hermann doesn’t want to believe this, he really doesn’t. But he just doesn’t think his father will approve of this, at all. He doesn’t think he’ll understand. Maybe he’ll say he does, because he thinks of himself as being modern and liberal, but he won’t understand, really, and every time he looks at Hermann, it will be in his eyes. Or maybe he won’t say he’ll understand, maybe he won’t even pretend, maybe he will be convinced he’s right, he’s always convinced he’s right, and what will he do then? What might he say? It makes him feel sick. He just said all those things, things that were _kind_ for him, what if now he says- Whatever he might say-_ _ _ _ _

_____“Please don’t lie to me again, Hermann.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Hermann shakes his head. He’s not this brave yet. He will be someday, he thinks desperately. Dietrich stood up to Dad. He’s sure Dietrich couldn’t have done that a few years ago. Hermann will be brave enough someday. And independent. (You always hear of people kicking out their children for being- whatever Hermann is, he isn’t sure yet what precisely he thinks that is.) He’ll be brave enough, he has to be. But right now, he can’t. “D-does it matter why-”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Hermann.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“I don’t want to lie to you,” he whispers. “I just don’t think you’ll understand.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Another silence. Hermann is sure he’s going to insist, and if he’s forceful enough, Hermann will have to tell the truth. The lies in the past only worked, he thinks, because his father wanted to believe them. But Lars only sighs and says, “I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me someday,” and sounds _tired_. It hurts, a different, sharper pain than before. His father stands up. “I’m going to make you a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” he says, back to his normal cool voice that fast, and walks away at last, leaving Hermann there alone. _ _ _ _ _

_____After a while, he finds the energy to pick himself up off the couch and go to bed. He wonders if he should call Newt. He’s not sure if anyone is still on his floor of the house. They might hear. He wonders if he’s being a coward for wanting to hide this. He wonders if Newt will mind._ _ _ _ _

_____He wonders if his mother would mind, or if she would understand, and then the tears come as they have been threatening to all day, fast and hot and irresistible, the sobs breaking out helplessly. He buries his face into his pillow in a desperate attempt to hide them, until the cloth is wet and he can’t breathe through his nose and he has to sit up. He hasn’t cried like this in a long time. He can’t seem to stop. Even after Newt kissed him the first time, when he was so confused and overwhelmed, it wasn’t like this. That was quiet, at least, now he can’t stop making awful little gasping sounds, and as fast as he wipes his face, it’s wet again. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. That conversation went fairly well, extremely well, all considering. His father said: _You’re not a disappointment_. He’s wanted to hear that so long. He wanted to hear that. And Dietrich stood up for him. And his father actually listened to both of them. And Newt said he liked him too. In retrospect, more good than bad has happened today. And maybe he’s crying for the good too. Everything is swirling around inside him, confusing and painful even where it’s good. This is too much emotion for one person to feel. This day is too much. _ _ _ _ _

_____He cries himself asleep, eventually, and forgets to call or even text Newt, or even to change out of his clothes._ _ _ _ _


	15. Confirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psst, twelve year old Tendo was totally wearing a One Piece t-shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH I can't believe I've been writing this story for an entire year.

The doctor’s appointment goes okay. His doctor clicks his tongue a lot and mutters about the state of education these days and asks Hermann a thousand questions about his leg and listens to his lungs and heart to check for internal damage, but in the end all that really happens is that he confirms that Hermann has a broken rib but that there isn’t much they can do about it. He advises Hermann take it easy for the next few days and take his painkillers if the pain bothers him, and that’s mostly all. Hermann has to resist the urge to say “See?” when he rejoins his father in the waiting room. But that’s not the sort of thing he would say anyway, not to his father, and after last night, he certainly doesn’t want to antagonize him, not when it feels as if a fragile peace is being established. 

What makes it all worth it, is when he gets home and Newt is once again waiting on his porch. Hermann thinks it might be the first time he’s ever been early. They’d arranged to meet after his doctor’s appointment to _talk_ about stuff - Hermann even remembered to politely ask his father for permission for a friend to come over - but he hadn’t expected Newt to get there before him. He wonders, with a thrill, if Newt was as eager for this as him. How lovely. He smiles stupidly out the car window and Newt grins back. 

His father seems surprised, which Hermann thinks is really unfair when he did ask permission, but instead of commenting on someone being there at all, he says, “That’s not- That friend of yours- The Asian boy-”

“Tendo?”

“Yes, that was it.”

“I _have_ more than one friend,” Hermann says for the thousandth time, and he pushes opens the car door. 

“Oh, of course,” his father says, but he still sounds startled. How rude. 

It doesn’t matter, though. Hermann gets out of the car and Newt is there, looking so- So perfectly himself. He’s wearing a t-shirt advertising some band that Hermann has never heard of and would probably dislike, and no doubt if he were to say so Newt would shout about it at the top of his lungs and make fun of Hermann and insist he listen to it. And it’s wonderful. “Hi,” Newt says. 

Hermann wishes he could kiss him right here and now. “Hello.” 

“Those colors are really flattering on you,” Newt says solemnly. Hermann has no idea what he’s talking about until Newt taps the skin next to his eyes (on his face, not Hermann’s, disappointingly enough.)

“Oh, shut up,” Hermann says. His father has come up behind them now. He could tell even if he couldn’t see him out of the corner of his eyes, because Newt’s smile has become slightly fixed. Even Newt can be intimidated by his father, how impressive. “Newton, this is my father. This is Newton Geiszler.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Lars says coolly. “Are you one of Hermann’s classmates?”

Newt swallows audibly. “Um, no, we met through Tendo.”

“Where do you go to school then?” Oh, of course he has to give Newt the third degree. But, Hermann thinks proudly, for once he shouldn’t be disappointed in the answers. Newt is in _college_ already. For the first time, Hermann doesn’t feel jealousy over that, merely pride. 

“I go to SDU actually,” Newt says, and glances at Hermann, as if he’s not sure he should say that. Newt, shy to brag. Even more impressive. Hermann tries to look encouraging. 

“I _see_ ,” Lars said, and yes, for once he sounds slightly impressed. “Hermann, you should ask him about the admissions process.”

Hermann contains a sigh. Of course that’s where his thoughts go. “I will,” he promises. 

“Well,” Lars says after a pause. “I’ll leave you two alone.” He goes up onto the porch and through the front door, and then they really are alone. 

Hermann doesn’t know what to say. Everything almost seems unbelievable. Did all that really happen yesterday? And what is he supposed to do now? He doesn’t know what happens next. 

“Hi,” Newt says eventually, and he smiles. 

Hermann smiles back, relieved, sure just from that smile that everything is okay. “You said that already.”

“Oh, well, _excuse_ me, Herms-” 

“Are you going to keep calling me that?”

“Are you gonna keep calling me Newton?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I get to call you Herms.”

He’s so happy he could burst. “Okay.” 

Newt abruptly takes a step forward and, of all things, puts his head on Hermann’s shoulder. “You’re so fucking cute,” he groans. Hermann can feel the words vibrate through Newt’s body into his. 

“Shut up, you’re embarrassing,” Hermann hisses, but makes absolutely no move to push him away. 

Newt laughs, and then says, “I wanna kiss you, where can we go where I can kiss you?” 

A pleasant flush runs through him, but he glances around carefully. Here’s not good. Someone could look out the front window or come down the street. And he doesn’t feel comfortable about his room, not when other people are home. Bas, for one, doesn’t always knock. But in the backyard, there are some private places, places he has used in the past to be alone when his house wasn’t good enough. In particular, there’s a big tree with a little bench behind it, left over from the people who formerly owned this house, which he knows for certain can’t be seen from the house. The backyard is fenced off too, so no one from outside the house can see either. “I know a place,” he says, and, feeling very daring, takes Newt’s hand and leads him around the house and through the gate into the backyard. 

They decided to meet today so they could _talk_ , but nonetheless Hermann thinks that there’s nothing wrong with them spending the first several minutes simply kissing. Still a little gently, because the cut on his lip is still tender, even though it has begun to heal, and his face in general is still, as Newt pointed out, fairly bruised up and painful. 

“Okay- Okay,” Newt says at last, pulling away, a little disheveled and breathing hard. Hermann is pleased with himself. “That’s all super awesome - I mean, seriously _super_ awesome - but we should probably, like, talk or whatever. And then we can make out more.”

“Okay,” Hermann agrees reluctantly. 

Then they stare at each other again. 

“I don’t...really know what comes next,” Hermann admits finally. “I, um. I guess you probably guessed but I haven’t really ever...dated anyone.” 

“I had no idea, Herms,” Newt says seriously. 

“Asshole.” 

“You’re so sweet.”

Hermann throws a leaf at him. It sticks in his hair. Newt makes a face and scuffs his hand at his hair. This does a lot to make his hair stick up even more and nothing to dislodge the leaf, but Hermann thinks it best not to mention that. 

“Anyway,” Newt says loudly. “In all seriousness-”

“I didn’t know you were capable of being serious-”

“In all seriousness, absolutely all of it, all the seriousness- I, uh, actually, like...haven’t dated that much either, I guess?”

Hermann pauses at that. “Ah- Really?”

Newt shrugs with an embarrassed smile. “I sorta dated this girl when I was fourteen, I went on one or two other dates that didn’t really pan out, and then I...kinda pined over this other girl last year, I guess, but it wasn’t really dating? So, um, I don’t know, I’m not that super experienced in this stuff either, I guess. But, um, I think, like, the adult thing to do at this point is to just _discuss_ the sort of things we want out of all this? And tell each other the stuff we think the other needs to know? I, uh, I haven’t really ever done that with anyone I went out with, but maybe that’s why nothing ever really worked, you know?”

“Oh.” Hermann considers. He wishes he was wearing his glasses, suddenly. He didn’t want to put his contacts in today, but he didn’t bother wearing his glasses either, he only needs them sometimes and it’s annoying to carry them around all the time. But it would be nice to see Newt’s face one hundred percent clearly right now. “I think that sounds sensible.” 

“And we must always do what is ‘sensible,’ my good man,” Newt says in a bad British accent.

“You suggested it!” 

“I know, I just like teasing you.” 

Hermann wonders how many leaves he could get to stay in Newt’s hair without Newt knowing. With all the hair gel he surely must wear, Hermann could probably get a lot to stick. The trick would be to get them there in the first place without Newt noticing. 

“Anyway,” Newt says, sobering up. “I think first of all we should discuss whether, um, whether this _is_ a relationship, and like, how we want that to work, and if we wanna be...exclusive. And so on.” 

_Exclusive_ is the first thing to put a dent in his happiness of all this. 

“I-”

“And-” Newt says at the same time. Hermann subsides and nods for him to go on. “Okay, don’t, like, get mad, because this applies to me too, just, um. I know that...You said yesterday that you aren’t always totally honest about your feelings, even to yourself- And I! I’m sure I do that sometimes too, so, let’s, uh, mutually promise to be honest about this stuff, okay? And really say what you mean, what you want.” 

He does sort of want to get angry about that. He _said_ he wants to stop lying, didn’t he? 

But of course, saying he wants to stop lying is predicated on the fact that he was lying before. More to himself than to anyone else. But nonetheless. He does that. Especially about his feelings. And that surely won’t be helpful here. It wouldn’t be rational to lie about this, any of this, now. It will only cause trouble later. 

He nods slowly and says, “I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Newt says. “Me too. Promise.”

“So...Ah. What I want is…” Hermann pauses to think about it, but really, he thinks he knows already. “I- I liked what we’ve done so far. Not- I mean, of course I did like the kissing parts, but everything else, too. Spending time together. I would like to continue doing that, but...honestly. Not as an experiment. I’m not sure if that counts as dating or not, and I- I should tell you, I am not the sort of person that likes going out all the time and doing all sorts of, well, whatever people our age do.” Newt laughs at that, but kindly. Hermann is sure he’s blushing by now. “I just want to be with you,” he concludes shyly. 

Newt stops laughing. His mouth is still slightly open, and his eyes have gone sort of luminous, bright green in the summer sunlight, hair ruffling in the breeze that makes it not unbearably hot. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Me too.” 

Then they have to kiss more. Hermann is breathless too when they pull apart. Newt laughs again and says, “Okay. Moving on.”

“Ah. Yes. Uh- Exclusivity.”

“Oh yeah,” Newt says, his face falling too. 

He’s more nervous about this part. All of the above was embarrassing, but was mostly the same as admitting he liked Newt, which Newt already knew. This, though...He laces his hands in his lap and says quietly, “I would prefer to be exclusive. But- I understand if you don’t want to be. And I, ah, I would be willing to discuss that. But there would have to be rules. And you would have to be honest about it- And-”

“I wanna be exclusive too,” Newt breaks in hastily. “But- That’s all super cool of you, dude. Just, um, not necessary, at least right now, I guess, I mean, I don’t intend for it to change but like I guess if it ever reaches that point, for either of us, we could discuss it or whatever-”

“But maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Hermann concludes. 

“Yeah.”

Hermann nods. 

“Cool,” Newt says, and for some reason that makes Hermann laugh. Maybe just from relief. Maybe from the leaf in Newt’s hair. Newt grins too. “Phew. Glad that part is done.” 

“Were there other things you wanted to discuss?” Hermann asks. 

“Yeah, actually,” Newt says. He sits back and sighs. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, and you don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable sharing,” he says carefully. “But I would like to, um, to ask about the ‘results of the experiment.’”

Ah. That probably is something they should discuss. He wants Newt to understand it, not least because in retrospect, he’s concerned about some of the impressions he may have given off. “I don’t mind, if it’s you,” he says quietly.

Newt smiles and take his hand again, like yesterday. Hermann suspects he’s simply a tactile person and may have been restraining himself previously. He doesn’t mind. 

“I’m still a little confused about it. I don’t...I’m not sure I can, ah, put a word to it yet. A label.” None of the words he has at his disposal feel quite right. Shouldn’t there be some feeling of rightness? Some feeling of, ah, yes, this is who I am. But nothing feels like that, at least not yet, and he’s not sure why, and that, too, makes him feel uncomfortable. Shouldn’t he know, now? 

“That’s okay,” Newt says immediately. “You don’t have to label it. People get too preoccupied with labels, I think.”

“I like labels,” Hermann mutters. It’s easy for Newt to say that, when he knows what his label _is_. Not that that means he’s wrong. 

“I’m sure you do,” Newt says with a laugh. “But there’s time to figure that out.”

Hermann nods. “I just think that- Well, I-” He realizes, suddenly, that he still hasn’t precisely said this out loud, not even to Alison. “I think that I like boys. Or at least, that I’m not purely heterosexual.” Newt squeezes his hand tighter. That helps, so that he can say, “I want to be clear that it’s not that I think that there’s anything _wrong_ with that. That’s not what I’ve struggled with- Or, at least, mostly not...Or- It’s more like-” He looks at Newt appealingly and says, “You must know how hard it is to always be different.” 

“Oh,” Newt says quietly. “Yes. I do get that.” 

“I know it’s silly, but I just get tired of always being different and never fitting in- and there’s so many expectations. And this one comes with- It’s not a bad thing _itself_ but it makes things harder, regarding society at least. And I think I just didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that this would be another difference, another way things could be difficult and I wouldn’t fit expectations.” He sighs and then admits, “And I probably did, um, internalize some prejudice, or so on, and that didn’t help either. And all of that, that’s why it scared me when you kissed me, because it started to make me realize things I hadn’t wanted to realize. But- I don’t know. Perhaps I _was_ ready to start figuring it out, because I set up this- really stupid experiment instead of running away.” 

“And you got lucky and got a super cool and hot guy as your experiment partner,” Newt says seriously. 

Hermann rolls his eyes. 

“But I think I understand now,” Newt says, flashing back to serious. Hermann still can’t quite keep up with how quickly his moods change. “You- I will admit, I was kinda confused before. You’re more complicated than I expected, and I guess also I was just expecting you to be, well, homophobic...But I mean, I get it. It is something that can really change your life. I mean, it doesn’t have to, but it can. Especially if- I get the vibe that your family isn’t quite as liberal as mine.” 

Hermann looks down and nods.

“And-” Newt’s hand brushes over his face, softly tracing the line of his cheekbone. “Does all this have anything to do with it?” 

He doesn’t say anything, but that must be enough, because Newt says, sad and horrified, “Oh, Hermann, I’m so sorry. Is this- Because of the party?” 

“It’s not your fault,” Hermann says firmly and immediately. It’s far too easy to imagine Newt feeling guilty for it, and Hermann simply doesn’t want him to. “All of those people already disliked me, this was just an excuse.” 

“No, I just- It sucks. I don’t know what else to say. It sucks.”

“‘It sucks’ summarizes it up pretty well,” Hermann agrees. He was expecting that to brighten Newt up, for Newt to laugh at him for using slang, but he still looks miserable, so Hermann says, “At least I don’t have to worry about ‘coming out’ or so on at school.” 

Hermann isn’t very good at joking. Newt just bites his lip and says unhappily, “But that shouldn’t have to be how it happens. _And_ -” he says, suddenly urgent. “That was the other thing I wanted to discuss.”

“Yes?” Hermann says, startled. 

“Just- Don’t think you have to tell anyone because of me. It sounds like it might be hard with your family, and at school, so don’t feel like you have to say anything. I understand that you aren’t, like, hiding me or anything. Your safety comes first, that’s definitely the most important thing, okay?” 

Hermann likes kissing because at times it is a much better way to express one’s feelings than words. So much more direct, and certainly more enjoyable. _And_ it gets Newt smiling again. 

Newt laughs softly and briefly presses his forehead against Hermann’s, before pulling back and saying, “Can I ask, though, _have_ you told anyone? Because, you know, you don’t have to tell anyone, but it can be nice to have someone to talk to about it. And you’re definitely allowed to talk about it, if you want.” 

“Alison sort of knows. Not details, exactly, but most of it. I supposed you must have guessed that, considering she texted you. I, er, needed someone to talk to.”

“Oh, I was wondering about that. What about-”

“Hermann!” Newt and Hermann both jolt, and Hermann, without thinking, yanks his hand out of Newt’s. He regrets it immediately; the voice, which he thinks is Bastien’s, is coming only from the back door to his house. He’s positive he and Newton can’t be seen from there. 

“Sorry,” he whispers to Newt, who smiles ruefully and shrugs, and then “What?” he yells back to Bastien, and doesn’t even regret sounding annoyed. 

“Tendo and a friend who isn’t Tendo are here!” 

“What?” he repeats, and stands up nearly as automatically as he took his hand away from Newt, and turns and looks back around the tree toward the house. The back door is open, and there’s Bas, and there’s Tendo, and there’s Alison.

“Wow,” Newt says behind him. “That’s just uncanny.” 

Hermann looks at Newt, still sitting on the bench with a bemused look on his face. Looks at Tendo and Alison, now coming across the lawn to them. They haven’t seen Newt yet, he can tell. Ah. Hermann has no idea what to do. Because- Because- No. No, is the answer to the question Newt didn’t finish asking. He didn’t tell Tendo. About any of this. And to be honest, by now, he’s almost forgotten that he should have. It stopped seeming like an option quite a while ago. God, he’s getting kind of tired of confrontations. He told Newt he liked him, aren’t things supposed to be resolved now? What is Tendo even doing here?

Tendo’s mouth falls open as he gets closer. Hermann waits for the _What is he doing here?_ or so on, but Tendo says, “Oh my god, Hermann, you look like shit!” and oh, he’d half forgotten about that too. He supposes that’s probably why Tendo is here. He wonders if Tendo just heard from Alison, or if Laird beating him up is a hot topic now among his classmates. No doubt Cara is happily spreading more rumors, each one uglier than the last. The thought makes him angry. 

“Hi, Hermann,” Alison says. “How are you?”

He starts to say, “I’m fine,” but before he even really finishes, Tendo looks over his shoulder and his expression changes. 

“Hey, guys,” he hears Newt say weakly, and Newt stands and comes over to his side.

Alison winces. 

“Newt?” Tendo says blankly. “What- What?”

Hermann folds his arms over his chest. At least when it came to speaking to his father, he’d had a chance to consider what he wanted to say. “I-”

“What the hell is Newt doing here?” Tendo says, not listening. 

“We’re-” Newt starts.

“You told me you didn’t call him!” 

He can see Newt react to that out of the corner of his eyes, and that’s massively unfair. That was a long time ago. Or, close enough; enough has happened in that time period that it feels like a very long time ago. He didn’t know anything then. 

“I lied,” he says flatly. 

“ _Why_? What the hell is going on?”

“We’re-” Just say it- “going out.” 

Newt reacts to that too, but by coming a little bit closer to him, and so even as his heart suddenly hammers loud in his ears, that is a little bit of relief. 

“ _What?!_ ”

“Congrats,” Alison says weakly. “You two look cute together.” 

Tendo turns around to level his betrayed look on them. “You knew? How could you not tell me!”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Alison says sharply. Hermann perhaps doesn’t deserve so good of a friend. 

“What, so it _was_ a secret?” Tendo says, looking at Hermann again. The anger is bad enough, but the look of shock and betrayal is worse. The feeling of unfairness wells up again. “You’ve been lying to me, Hermann? Why?”

“I- I didn’t even realize there was anything to tell until recently! It’s not- like we’ve been going out this whole time!” 

“Oh, what, so it just _spontaneously_ happened today? You ran into Newt for the first time since my party and the two of you decided out of nowhere to start dating?” Tendo shouts. (Did Bas leave? Is anyone from the house listening?)

“No-”

“So you’ve been lying to me!”

“That’s-”

“What the hell is up with you lately? You’ve been acting fucking weird lately! You’ve been avoiding me for months, then I hear you get into a fight with _Tim Laird_ -”

“That’s not what I said!” Alison interjects angrily.

“And now- You’re, what, sneaking around with Newt behind my back? Lying to me! Why, I don’t fucking get it! We’re supposed to be friends-” 

And that’s too much. “Friends?” Hermann spits. “How can we be friends?”

“Wha-”

“You’re the one that picked other people over me!” Hermann shouts. “All these people- that treat me like shit and always have! You picked them over me! How can I tell you the truth when you’re friends with people like that! All of this happened because of you! Because of your friends! Everyone at school is saying awful things about me and, and doing things like this- And no! It wasn’t a fight! Your friends told everyone I was a _fag_ -”

“Hermann,” Newt whispers.

“-and then Laird decided to beat the shit out of me! So how- How could I tell you the truth? How could I trust you? How do I know that you- that you wouldn’t just- laugh at me like the rest of them? You’re the one that left me behind first!” 

Tendo has gone very white. 

Hermann is shaking. Oh. He was still lying to himself. He hadn’t known that- that this was how he felt. That he was this angry at Tendo. 

He can remember the first time he properly met Tendo. He was twelve, and he’d only been in America for a month and a half, only been going to that middle school for one month, but a few smart comments combined with his general awkwardness meant that he was already disliked, already being bullied. It was lunch, and he didn’t have anywhere to sit or anyone to sit with, and neither did he have any lunch. Someone had knocked his lunch bag out of his hands on the way to the cafeteria and his food had spilled to the ground and people had stepped on it. And he remembers standing in the doorway to the cafeteria, empty handed, looking around at all the tables filled up with people he was sure hated him, and this awful feeling of loneliness and fury (he was always so angry at that age) that had been so bitter and painful he thought he’d drown in it; and then this awkward looking boy with hair that was falling in his eyes and a t-shirt that was too big and blazoned with the logo of a show Hermann had never heard of. He said, “We’re in science together, right? I’m Tendo. Wanna sit with me?”

Tendo was weird too, then. Or, Hermann supposes he’s still weird now, but back then he was awkward too. He was scrawny and he hadn’t developed a fashion sense and he didn’t know how to talk comfortably with others, the way he can now. He was bullied too, although not quite as much as Hermann. Tendo, unlike Hermann, had the sense to hold his tongue when they insulted him. They were both outcasts. Hermann has always suspected that Tendo only approached him that day because he felt bad for him and because he didn’t like sitting alone at lunch either, but they quickly found that they had common interests, maths and computers and science fiction, and it quickly became a real friendship. It’s perhaps not fair to say that it was Hermann’s _first_ friendship, as he had playmates in elementary school too, but it certainly felt like his first real friendship. And it was just the two of them, all through middle school. And it was good like that. Hermann, who had been certain he could never be happy in America, was happy. So why? Why did it have to change? Tendo changed. High school came, and he began to grow into himself, and he learned to dress well and to style his hair and how to flirt, and he met people who hadn’t gone to their middle school and didn’t know he was that nerd and he became friends with them, and he made people from their middle school forget and became friends with them too. He didn’t stop being strange, but somehow he made others see his strangeness as an advantage, as something that made him stand out. He became one of those people who was comfortable with everyone, who crossed the lines of cliques with ease, from nerds to alt kids to hipsters to the athletes and back. It felt like...like there wasn’t space for Hermann anymore. Eating lunch with him came to mean eating lunch with a variety of kids he didn’t know, or worse, did know, because they were the same ones being unkind to him when Tendo wasn’t there. Hanging out with him was worse; he was always either too busy, or wanted Hermann to go to a party or to some school event, a dance or football game or something awful like that. Sophomore year, for the first time, they didn’t have any classes together. So. It just became easier to not eat lunch with him, to not hang out with him, to not see him at all. 

He had thought he was okay with that. It’s natural, right? Friends drift apart. No one stays friends with their best friend when they were twelve. That’s natural. If Tendo wanted to be friends with other people, if Tendo didn’t want him anymore, if Hermann wasn’t enough anymore, if he would rather be friends with people like Cara, then that was fine. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t humiliate himself by uselessly fighting the inevitable. It was fine. That was what he thought. 

He was lying to himself about that too, it turns out. Because- Because how could Tendo do that? Weren’t they friends? How could he just leave Hermann behind? How could he be friends with people like Cara? Tendo was the one who left, so how he can say, I thought we were friends?

“Th-that’s not- That’s not fair,” Tendo stammers. His eyes have gone overly bright. “I- I wouldn’t- I didn’t know! How am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me? You never tell me anything! You’ve never trusted me!” 

“That’s not true!” Hermann says, overwhelmed by the unfairness of this, of all this. 

“It is!” Tendo insists, and swipes an arm over his eyes. “You always- You _always_ keep things like this to yourself, it’s not fair, I’m not a mind reader! If- If s-some of my friends are being jerks to you, you have to tell me that! What am I supposed to do if you don’t tell me!” 

“What would you have done even if I did tell you? I’m not going to, to tell you that you can’t be friends with these people anymore! I don’t expect you to pick me over your other friends!” 

“I _would_!” Tendo cries. “God! If- I mean, fucking obviously, if someone is going around saying- th-things like that, I wouldn’t be friends with that person anymore! And if someone is being a jerk to you, I don’t want to be friends with that person!” 

Hermann can barely see straight anymore. “It’s easy for you to say that now! But lately it’s like- We don’t even talk! You’re always too busy! You can’t call this friendship anymore! So why should I believe that, why would I think you’d pick me over your other friends?”

“Because you’re an important friend to me!” Tendo says, voice cracking. “I thought- I thought we were friends! But- a-apparently I’m the only one thinking that! Apparently you just gave up on being friends with me and didn’t even tell me! And that’s- That’s- That’s really fucking shitty of you, Hermann!” He’s letting the tears fall freely now. “I was- I was fucking worried about you, I’ve been worried about you! And you’ve just been lying to me, and- ugh- God, just- Fuck you!”

The silence that comes after that is so loud that Hermann doesn’t hear the sound of Tendo - Alison too - leaving. He can only barely make out the shape of their backs to him. He just knows that he and Newt are suddenly alone in the backyard.

“Hermann,” Newt says. 

Hermann shakes his head and puts his hands over his face. 

Newt pauses, then says, “Hey, you know what I think we haven’t done enough of yet?”

Hermann shakes his head again, although he’s not entirely sure himself whether he’s answering Newt’s question or trying to get him to stop talking or just- saying _no_ to all of these. 

Newt answers anyway. “I really don’t think we’ve hugged enough yet,” he says. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

He considers this. It’s hard. It’s hard to think. He’s feeling too many things again. 

“Okay,” he says, the words muffled in his hands, and Newt’s arms slip around him.

After a moment, he decides he made the right choice. Newt is warm and soft and a little bit shorter than Hermann so that Hermann can tuck his head into the crook of Newt’s shoulder and his neck, and he becomes aware again that he’s shaking very hard. He and Tendo, of course, have fought before, but always before it was either bickering, or inconsequential, the sort of fight where an hour later you can’t even remember why you’re angry. They’ve never fought like this. 

He had thought that he and Tendo’s friendship would probably inevitable cease to be in the next year or so, but he hadn’t thought it would be like this. He’d thought it would just sort of drift out of existence. He’d thought they’d still be acquaintances at least. That if he ever really needed Tendo he could still contact him. He didn’t think he’d lose Alison too - he’d never even really contemplated what would happen between him and Alison - and now that will surely happen too. He feels sick.

“It’s not fair,” he whispers.

Newt’s hands are resting on his back. He can feel the warmth of him through his t-shirt. He rubs one hand up and down slowly. “Let’s sit down,” he suggests, and they manage to do that without quite letting go of each other. 

The anger is receding some now, and some of the shock, revealing a layer of different, still ugly feelings. Shame, for one. He was lying to himself again, still, about other things he didn’t realize - and now he wonders how many other things are still hiding - and they came out in such an awful, shameful way. Was he mean? Wasn’t he? Was he wrong? He doesn’t know if he’s wrong, but- Wasn’t he mean? And Newt was watching. And Newt- And Tendo- Oh-

“I don’t expect you to choose between us,” Hermann says unevenly, and contradictorily clutches harder at Newt. “I know Tendo is your friend, and you’ve known him longer than me, so I-”

“It’s not even gonna get to that point,” Newt interrupts. “Because you and Tendo are friends and have been for way longer than I’ve known you or him, and this was just a fight and you’re going to make up, and it won’t even get to the point of having to choose sides.” 

Hermann is silent. He can’t believe it will be that easy. 

“Dude, it will be okay,” Newt insists, now rubbing circles into his back. “You just need to talk things out when you’re both calmer.”

Hermann shakes his head.

“You and I talked things out, and that helped a lot, right? I bet it will be the same with Tendo.” He hesitates, and then says, “That is- _Do_ you still want to be friends?”

Sitting down, they’re closer to the same height. Hermann presses his face to Newt’s shoulder and says muffled into his shirt, “I’m angry at him. I’m really angry at him- But I didn’t want to stop! It felt like- I felt like- Like he was the one that wasn’t interested anymore!” 

“Okay, okay,” Newt says reassuringly. “Just tell him that.” 

“ _What_?”

“Just tell him how you feel. I mean, clearly I’m being wildly hypocritical here. You know how my past friendships have gone, they’ve all crashed and burned, this last year was a total crapshoot so I’m really in no place to give advice on friendship, so you don’t have to listen to me, but I think you should talk to him.”

Hermann considers this. 

“Your friends were all assholes,” he points out. 

Newt laughs quietly. “Yeah, that’s true.” 

“Tendo’s not an asshole,” he admits miserably. He hates to think this, he hates to be wrong, but he thinks that if anyone is an asshole, in this situation, clearly it was Hermann. He did lie. He did- He did just give up. The tears well up again, and he tries desperately, and not entirely successfully, to blink them away. He hopes he isn’t making Newt’s shirt wet. 

He made Tendo cry. He hasn’t seen Tendo cry since he was fourteen and his grandfather passed away unexpectedly. Hermann went to the funeral and awkwardly hugged Tendo, who had been stoic through all the ceremony, when he abruptly broke down on the car ride home. 

Hermann hates this, he hates this. “Okay,” he says. 

Newt doesn’t ask what he’s saying okay to. He just agrees, “Okay.” 

They sit quietly for a while. Hermann can hear the sound of Newt’s pulse beating through his neck, overlaying the sound of the wind drifting through the leaves and birds singing. 

“We should do this hugging thing more often,” Newt remarks. 

Hermann nods.

“And I’m being super cool right now, aren’t I?” Newt continues more lightly. “Super comforting and smart and awesome, and pretty sexy too, in my opinion. Best boyfriend ever, and it’s only like, the first day of us being boyfriends. It’s okay if you like me even more now, Herms, don’t hold back, feel free to lavish me with praise.”

Hermann snorts - as no doubt he was intended to - and sits back at last, surveying him critically. “You have a leaf in your hair.” 

By the time Newt is done dragging his hand through his hair so that it utterly sticks up - he does finally dislodge the leaf - and shouting, “Oh my god, how long has that been there?” and “Was that there that whole dramatic fight? Oh my god!” Hermann feels a little bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/13/16  
> I don't know WHEN I will update this again but THEORETICALLY it will happen.


End file.
